#my friend enjoyed this when I posted it to them on discord

[garmrheim]

🎄Santaphale Au collection🎄

Hello! ive had this in my draft forever now and its DUE TIME to make this and post it since ive gotten questions about the au and while i make art theres amazing other creators that has helped built it up in the sandbox and while i make art theres (as of now) three fics from the same universe posted on Ao3 that follows Aziraphale and Crowley in different points in their life. ------

For those that are wondering- the short introduction to it is that the Santaphale universe began over on discord with a handfull of friends that banded together to spin up an elaborate and extensive story featuring Crowley (she/they) around her late 30s in the beginning of the story and down the line she stops aging around her late 40s/early 50s and becomes immortal along with Aziraphale (he/him) , who (looks to be) around 50. He is of half human/elfin nature that makes him a cryptid of his own right with the power he weilds as The Spirit of Hope Through Darkness, Guardian of Childhood Wishes, the God of Winter Gifts, king of the northern elves, also called Sinterklaas or Santa Clause (Thank you salt for that perfect row of titles ) They met on a Christmas night when Aziraphale visits Crowley’s home while delivering presents and after a passionate night, departs after giving her a silver bell with summoning magic to ring if she wants to see him again. Crowley goes to bed, then wakes up thinking it was all a dream til she meets a familiar face a few months later and cue a lovely romance! They later come to live in the North Pole for the second half of every year, and eventually they end up having a small bunch kids that they love and adore and the art and fic follows this entire journey and so much more.

-----

This will be updated if and when new stuff is added just because i like having it all in one place and id like if you that are introduced to the au with my art has a way to get more! as of right now (december 2024) theres 3 fics published that belongs to this au and i will post their links and information below! i can highly recommend it as they are made by two of the most talented people i know and dear friends that im so happy to share this Santaphale sandbox with along with all the pals in our server hello! i adore you too! Any art that relates to Santaphale that ive done can be found on Bluesky now since i moved completely from twitter. its over on my Family oriented acc called VanadisHeim (that IS 18+ because theres also adult content there) the occasional Santaphale can also be found on my main account called GarmrHeim and any additional art made by my fellow cocreators that is published will also be added here! ✨ Have fun and enjoy! 🎄✨

''Silver bells'' @vaguely-demonic (Vaguelydemonic on Ao3) silver bells (5938 words) by vaguelydemonic Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Good Omens (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Magic, First Meetings, Crush at First Sight, She/Her and They/Them Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), She/Her Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale (Good Omens) as Santa Claus, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Santa Kink, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Fingering, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Squirting and Vaginal Ejaculation, Coming Untouched, Coming In Pants, Mildly Dubious Consent, (previous tag clarified in author's note!), Crowley is vision impaired, Oral Sex, Christmas Smut Summary: It was Christmastime in the city and Mx. Antonia J. Crowley had resigned herself to yet another Christmas spent alone. Like everyone else, all she wanted was to live in a fairy tale world where she could just have her deepest desire purely because she wanted it: a nice big house somewhere quiet and far from the city, a partner to live out her days with, a happy family that loved her as much as she loved them. She'd come to the conclusion many, many failed relationships ago that what she wanted simply wasn't in the cards for her. Instead, her Christmas plans would once again be her, her ragged tabletop tree with a single ornament, and a bottle of wine to help her find sleep… Until there arose such a clatter and Crowley stirred from the sofa to see what was the matter. With a welcome so calm, collected, and pleasant, Crowley finds someone there in her living room, seeking to deliver a present. ------------------------------------------------- '' A Gift to us both '' @definitionsfading (Blackeyedblonde on ao3)

a gift to us both (7376 words) by blackeyedblonde Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens)

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Magic, Christmas, Aziraphale (Good Omens) as Santa Claus, Christmas Smut, Established Relationship, Developing Relationship, Domestic, He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), She/Her Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Age Difference, Romance, Kissing, Cunnilingus, Oral Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Breeding, Impregnation, Knotting, Crying, Confessions, Come Inflation, Mating Press, Pet Names, Tenderness, Aziraphale Has a Large Penis (Good Omens), Size Difference, Bearded Aziraphale (Good Omens), Babymaking, Soulmates, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Femme Crowley (Good Omens), Lingerie, Fluff and Smut, Ineffable Spouses, Cervix Penetration, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Sex Magic

Summary: “When you say Christmas ‘wish,’ does that mean a five thousand pound gift voucher to the Liberty store in London, or something more in the abstract?” Crowley asks, lightly tweaking the curl of Aziraphale’s mustache. “I need to know the technical parameters of what you’re offering, here.” Aziraphale hums around a little laugh but goes quiet for a few moments to consider the seriousness of what he’s proposing. “You are a passionate person with a good heart and boundless optimism despite the struggles you’ve faced in your life,” he says, stating it matter-of-factly because he considers it to be true. “I’m an unusual figure in the position to grant wishes where I’m able, whether they be material or miraculous. But I suppose what I wanted to hear, if you’d indulge me, was something closer to your heart’s most ardent desire.” Crowley opens her mouth and then closes it again. Azirapahle watches the line of her slender throat as she swallows. “You’re yanking my chain,” she says, laughing as she shakes her head. “Taking the full piss.” “I can assure you I’m not,” Aziraphale says. ______________________________________________________

''Merry&Bright'' @vaguely-demonic (Vaguelydemonic on Ao3)

merry & bright (6814 words) by vaguelydemonic Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Good Omens (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) Characters: Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens), Original Child(ren) of Aziraphale and Crowley (Good Omens) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Magic, Aziraphale (Good Omens) as Santa Claus, Established Relationship, He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), She/Her Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Ineffable Spouses, Childbirth, Mild Blood, Bodily Fluids, it's childbirth okay there's gonna be some amniotic fluid, Pregnancy, Chestfeeding, Breastfeeding, Premature Birth, Less than ideal birthing conditions, Christmas, Christmas Party, Family Fluff, ineffable parents, Pregnant Crowley (Good Omens) Summary: When Aziraphale returned to the North Pole at the end of another successful run of delivering toys to the children of the world, the comfort of home was calling his name. A fire crackling away in the hearth. The promise of his beautiful family coming together for their grand holiday celebration later that evening. Crowley waiting sleepily for his late night return so he could slip into bed beside her and rest his palm over her belly, where their newest baby was nearly ready to join them. Truly, there was nothing more he could ever ask to come home to. Crowley and the baby had other ideas. Aziraphale had spent all night delivering gifts to others. It was Crowley's turn to deliver their own Christmas gift, away in a manger.

---

TO BE CONTINUED ✨

🎅🤶 👦👧👩🧒🧒👧👧🧒 🎄🦌🦌🦌🦌🦌🦌🦌🦌🦌🎄

[hylianworrier]

2024 fic retrospective!

I’ve seen the wrapped post going around and was inspired to collect highlights from the year, just for fun and to remind me how much I’ve worked on.

First serialised fic

Rise and Fall - A Bloodweave Bakery AU

First Series

Expert Witness: A three-part modern Bloodweave AU. Super fun, loved drawing for this one.

First collaboration

Brought to you by the Magic Man discord server! I was hella nervous when I signed up, got even more nervous as each writer was announced

Favourite work

Memento Vivere - a Bloodweave Vampire AU, set in 1970s England. It just came to me one evening and I didn’t stop until I’d finished writing it. I really enjoyed this one.

Inspiration

@parkouringrabbits, @ashamedbliss , @patheticfangirl have all written things that compelled me to draw something. @koalamatcha has inspired me to buy myself EVEN MORE WINE. @nivasichakano has altered my reality and now I enjoy having F1 reels on my feed…

Everyone in the Magic Man discord has made joining the BG3 fandom so much fun and so welcoming.

Every. Single. Person. Who. Has. Left. A. Comment! Everyone who’s sent a message, reblog, kudos. All of it. Absolutely crazy to me still that you’re all so bloody lovely. Absolutely loved talking to so many people, reading so many works, admiring so much art… Never had such a good time, honestly.

Next year

I have… so many WIPS. I might do a separate post about them. Top of the list is a monster 70s/80s Mod/New Romantic AU, a Shadlink fic that came to me in a dream and an exchange fic that will come out very early in the year!

Also the ever-growing backlog of fics I’ve not started reading or am part way through! I’m going to do better at commenting on each chapter (since I can’t leave any more kudos…) Everyone who is working on multi-chapter fic, keep writing! Some of us are just slow and distracted readers

It’s been a wonderful year. I wrote my first fic two years ago when I couldn’t sleep. Now I think about writing every day. Absolutely love having this hobby; it’s brought me such joy and so many friends!

[msmc-796-official]

I... have a confession to make, of sorts. There won't ever be a good time to admit this, unfortunately, so it's best I get this off my chest now, and ask for forgiveness rather than permission.

It has not been easy speaking with all of the flashclones who have made themselves known in the wake of Union's latest raids; both for myself, and the squadron at large. I must commend my squadmates for handling themselves with the utmost professionalism - while my own correspondences with these newest members of the Omninet have been what I would consider adequately polite, I've been biting my tongue the entire time, and I fear that my personal discomfort with the issue is starting to slip through the cracks.

To this end, I wish to share my thoughts publicly, that I might better express my own emotions towards this complicated, frustrating, and highly nuanced issue. I only ask that you hear me out in full before you render judgement, and pronounce your sentence carefully.

First: an observation.

MSMC policy requires that all pilots dictate an end-of-life plan at the time of their recruitment, that their final wishes may be carried out by the company in the event of their death under MSMC's employ. The options provided for this are effectively unlimited, allowing the pilot a great deal of choice and freedom in planning their postmortem arrangements. These plans may also be altered in the future should circumstances change, provided the pilot is of sound body and mind.

Under MSMC policy, in compliance with the policies set forth by Union, one of the available postmortem options is flashcloning.

In my fifteen-odd years serving under MSMC, I have only heard of three pilots who have willingly chosen to be flashcloned after death (thus prolonging not only their life, but their term of service under MSMC as well). Of these, I have only personally met one, affiliated with MSMC-808 "5Q8R3 L00P3RZ" - I believe their current iteration goes by callsign Lemniscate. While I do not know how many times they have been cloned during their term of service, their current iteration seems happy enough, and their squadmates reassure me that they've maintained a consistent identity (plus or minus the odd quirk, as is typical of flashclones) throughout their life (lives?).

Second: a digression.

I purchased my Dusk Wing, And The Voice of Apollo Spoke From On High (Apollo for short), from an SSC showroom on a planet whose name I no longer recall. The curated atmosphere called to mind the high marble pillars and lush green-blue waters of some distant Cradle mythology where gods roamed the earth and mortals strove to emulate them, punished and rewarded for their folly in equal measure with gifts and curses beyond name. Each frame was posed as the statues of old on Cradle, too-human limbs arrayed in too-human poses, each a machine of war turned living art piece.

Apollo, true to its future name, was arrayed in flight; hover-jets draped with sunlight-yellow gossamer, veil rifle aimed in its middle tier of manipulators with the same care and precision as an archer would take with their bow. To see it lowered to the floor after its purchase was to see Icarus fall; to climb inside its cockpit for the first time, to don wax-and-feather wings of my own and fly.

The old tales caution that divinity has a cost, and I too paid the price. A vial of blood, drawn with silver needle and spirited away into an unseen cooler before my pen ever touched paper. Apollo was mine, but SSC had received a far greater gift in its place: a sample of my DNA, unwillingly donated as the price for my divine armament.

Even now, this price weighs heavy on my head like the sword which hung above Damocles, poised to drop without a moment's notice with each new Union raid on yet another forgotten cloning facility. Who can say on what distant planet the children I did not birth sleep in stasis - children with my eyes, my hair, my nose, my smile; sons and daughters who will never be called as such because, to their creators, they are slaves, weapons, property - anything but human.

Third: an explanation.

I believe that flashcloning, in its current state as of 5016u, as approved by Union's Third Committee (and exploited by the likes of SSC, HA, and several countless others across the stars) is an inherently unethical practice; both for those who donate their DNA (willingly or otherwise), as well as for those persons produced by it.

To see countless lives created, manipulated, slaughtered, and recycled in the name of so-called "progress"; to see inherently human beings stripped of every vestige of humanity but the body in which they reside and then forcibly brainwashed and molded into soldiers, medics, mechanics, weapons, machines, slaves, property - it is an abominable and inhumane practice that should have died a slow and painful death in the darkness from whence it was birthed.

This being said: I cannot stand idly by as the products of this inhumane practice continue to suffer. No matter whether it is beneath the apathetic gaze of Union, the dehumanizing bootheel of HA, or the eugenicist scalpel of SSC, I will not allow my fellow persons to endure another day of abuse at the hands of those who would abandon their own creations as little more than imperfect failures for daring to remind their creators of their sentience.

Alone, I can do nothing. I too am but a cog in this great uncaring machine humanity has built, one which prospers on suffering and bloodshed and the work of hands which have forgotten the body to which they are attached. Even if I were to risk life and limb and reputation to make my position known, it is a battle which lies dead in the water - it is impossible to halt the wheels of progress without irreparably damaging the future which relies on their turning.

And so I fight. I fight for those who have forgotten their humanity, both willingly and unwillingly, that they might find something of their own - identity, purpose, desires, connection, life - that reminds them of what they were and are and always have been: human.

-- Angel

[icewindandboringhorror]

I have found a beautiful perfect humble rock specimen that is light yellow with a weird dark yellowy brown lining, somewhat resembling a chunk of smoked gouda cheese... effervescent

[cowboy-robooty]

banging my head into a wall trying to make friends as a dms guy when everybody else in the world likes talking through posts.

[e3rt]

JEFF the KILLER rewrite by Ekatlani

Hi everyone, I want to start by thanking everyone who has supported my work so far and waited patiently for this post.

Alongside that I want to thank @gh0ulkitty for the amazing editing they provided throughout this. Without all the community support and help I don't think I would have completed this project to the standard it is.

Thanks to all my mutuals and discord friends for the feedback and assistance as well

enjoy!

Jeff the Killer 

By EkatLani 

♱ 

Pig shit. Pig shit, blood and wet earth. That is how Liu would describe his childhood home; a plethora of vile stenches which permeated the air, briefly interrupted by conversation, boredom and family dinners. His brother, too, who sat perched on the wooden fence nasally inhaling the exhumed smoke he periodically released from his dry lips.  

It helped with the smell, he insisted, although Liu had an inkling that was just an excuse.  

The eldest stood, ankle deep in a slurry of swine excrement, feed and damp dirt, attempting to shovel the bulk of it into a wheelbarrow. Rain had swept through the farm last night, emulsifying the flurry of foulness into the most wretched of chores. The air was still bitterly chill, both brothers wearing heavy layers under their raincoats to stave off the assault of backsplash from the shovel. The heavy thunk of the mud splattering every which way as it landed against the aged metal. 

Jeff seemed unbothered, laughing as Liu had groaned awake when the smell carried through the crack of their bedroom window and into the still dark room.  

“Cheer up, soldier, no school today!” He had responded wildly while combing his black dyed hair into place, his first cigarette of the day hanging lazily between his bared teeth. 

Jeff, for as long as Liu could remember, woke up at the crack of dawn, far before the rest of the house. To do what? Liu didn’t know really, probably to jerk off uninterrupted. He was always showered, dressed, awake before even the laborer that was their father, who frequently pestered Liu for his sleeping habits. He compared him to their mother with a nasty snarl on his lips every time. 

Liu had rubbed the sleep from his eyes and, in one wide sweep, he tossed the blanket from his body, slithering out of bed.  

His brows furrowed as he sighed deeply, “Fuck this.” Before long, there they were, taking turns cleaning up nature's gift while the aforementioned swine serenaded them with squeals. The brevity of missing school was a small mercy, at least... 

Jeff’s boots squelched into the ground as he landed next to his brother. Puberty had been kind to him in some ways. Despite being a year younger, at seventeen, he stood a solid head above the older. Lithe with corded muscles whose strength betrayed his appearance, he was a lot more durable than he looked. 

“Pass it over sissy, before I burn my lips.” He spat the butt into the ground, reaching his pale, spindly hand outward. Liu released his grip on the shovel and took his station leaning against the fence, which shifted from bearing his weight. 

Jeff may be taller, but Liu was more compact, bearing the physicality of labor from a young age. With calloused hands now tucked into the pockets of his coat, plastic crinkling sharply, he exhaled, smirking at Jeff’s remark.  

He took it in stride instead of catching the bait. If he did, it wouldn’t be long until the two were dragged back inside with busted lips and scabby knees. Undoubtedly with hungry stomachs,  sent to bed dinnerless.  

The younger sibling hunched over the shovel, using his heel to press the sharp end further into the dirt.  

“Do you think we’ll finish this today?” Liu inquired, voice hoarse.  

“Oh, definitely not.” Jeff responded jovially. 

“Ugh, I fucking hate this.” 

“Yeah,” Jeff heaved, leaning against the shovel, “Want to do something else?” 

“And get our ass beat? Smart move.” 

“You’re no fun sometimes.” He decided, dropping the shovel into the slurry, trudging off unceremoniously into the nearby shrubbery. Liu shook his head and continued the work, not bothering to follow him. He’ll reappear before dinner, regardless of what he wasted his time doing. 

The farm was an empty open space graced with a selection of pigs, ripe for slaughter, surrounded by thick foliage. The smell he could handle, the shit he could handle, but the blood? Pig squeals sounded awfully human at the best of times, and the panicked screams before death were deafening—a job Liu just couldn’t do. A job Jeff was kept from, if only for his own sake. But no, no slaughter for him.  

Liu’s senseless meandering in his own mind was interrupted by the bellowing voice of Mr. Woods, “Alright! Boys, dinner. Inside!” He clapped all the while, beckoning them. Liu planted the shovel and dragged himself inside.  

Jeff didn’t come home until after dinner, the likes of which was heavy and uncomfortable. Liu could tell his father was waiting, just waiting for a reason to blow up.  

Liu tried to be inconspicuous even as he swatted flies away from his face. As if a sudden move would reveal his inability to complete his chores.  

His mother, who was still in the kitchen as the two men ate, insisted on cooking with the window open. Despite the weather, or smell or insects, the narrow window would stay open, and she would gaze out. Placid to the world as she cooked, humming unidentifiable tunes.  

The food was tasteless in the dense air of tension, holding Liu’s head as he fixated on the plate. Mr. Woods didn’t speak, open mouth chewing throughout the evening, slurping at his lukewarm beer. The sun had long set when Jeff had stumbled through the door, and Liu braced for the pot to bubble over. Spill its turbulent fluids throughout the home. 

His mother stood in place, peaking at the scene from beneath her curtain of dark hair. Still, she made no move to interject, remaining a silent observer in her own home. Mr. Woods said nothing, eerily still, and for a moment, Jeff simply stood in the doorway.  

The brothers shared a concerned and confused glance, weary. Cautiously, Jeff broke the pause by walking further, his scruffy Great Pyrenees a few steps behind. The dog strolled lazily, tongue lolling out and white fur muddled from the weather.  

Jeff flinched as a bottle suddenly shattered against the door behind him, exploding beer and glass shards everywhere. 

“Get that filthy fucking dog out of my house!” Their father roared, sending the dog scrambling away in a panic, back to the fields. Jeff stood, frozen, and Liu hurried to interject. But when his father looked him dead in the eyes, Liu looked back down at his half full plate.  

“Good job today boy.” Mr. Woods drawled, the words feeling harsh and unearned. Liu briefly glanced up and nodded.  

Mr. Woods then turned back to the boy who still stood by the door and nodded toward the stairs.  

Both brothers knew what that meant. Jeff all but ran up the stairs, leaving the rest of the family in a familiar silence. Liu struggled to eat the rest of his plate, casting furtive glances at his father all the while.  

Mr. Woods sat back and snapped his fingers for another drink, the wall still damp from his wrath.  

Liu excused himself and hurried to bed, laying wide eyed until Jeff returned to their room later that night. He was limping, calves branded with red welts.  

“I don’t know why you do it to yourself, Jeff.” He whispered into the darkness of the room. 

“I don’t know why you do fucking nothing, Liu.” He rasped, voice dry and sharp, accusatory. And Liu sat with his guilt for the rest of the night.  

If Jeff had to describe school, it would be; boring, boring and boring. As were most things. Incredibly boring and uninspired.  

He preferred staying on the farm, with the pigs and his brother and his dog and all the things he could do with no one giving a shit. All things that were his and his alone. 

He remembered the day he realized he hated school– he must’ve been six or seven? He had approached a girl on the playground who was swinging from monkey bar to monkey bar, small and pudgy with flushed cheeks and twin braids.  

Other kids compared her to a pig, making snorting noises at her until she teared up and ran away. Jeff liked her, Jeff liked pigs.  

So, when he went up to her, he attempted to jump for the bar next to the one she was grappling, hoping she would like him too. Give him her attention, and he could see her do something other than cry and scream, something no one else got to see her do.  

But the little girl kicked at him.  

Jeff planted into the sand, brows furrowing in anger as she yipped at him to leave her alone. In retrospect, she probably assumed the boy meant to chase her off the bars and ostracize her like the others, and maybe now Jeff would have responded differently.  

However, his frustration at the rejection was more emotional than his young body could contain. How could she, fat and short, push away the opportunity to have a friend like him? Who was much taller than the other boys and could easily make them leave her alone. Was she stupid? 

He figured she must be and grabbed her by the ankle, yanking her down into the sand with him. Anger soothed as she hit the earth below.  

She scraped both her knees, wobbly and unable to break the fall, her forehead following. Scratched up and teary eyed, she ran to the teachers, and for the rest of the year Jeff had to be sat in a different class from her. Which greatly frustrated him. 

So yeah, he hated school, and it was very boring. 

Except for Mrs. Goelet, who he found vehemently entertaining. From her uncertain stuttering when the class wouldn’t listen, to her tired crow’s feet– he found her so entertaining.  

When the class would boisterously yell at her and ignore every reprimand, he would sit and listen intently. Watching her and her brown hair and long colourful skirts she would stride around in. He would stay after class and pester her with a million questions, knowing she was too reserved to call out his deceitful behavior.  

Yeah, that was his too, he decided.  

He shuffled through the halls, easily spotting his brother over the sparse sprinkling of peers. He walked right past him, red welts littering his calves with a stinging reminder of the previous night.  

Fucking brutal. His dad was a total sadist, holding both his brother and mom on a tight leash. If Jeff had it his way, he’d turn that wannabe into pig feed before the sun set. 

Even if he ignored Liu, he was glad it was him over his older brother. Liu would’ve sobbed all night, from either the pain or the humiliation.  

Instead, Jeff walked right out to the area behind the gymnasium, where the ass crack end of the school faced more thick shrubbery. Around this turn of weather, you could find all sorts of birds plastered along the bush floor, pecking at the worms that writhed to the surface.  

Jeff sat on a tree stump, beckoning a plump pigeon closer with a writhing insect held between his fingers. Pigeons were particularly trusting birds, Jeff had found, easily convinced by food. Sort of like pigs.  

The pigeon twitched its little face side to side, hopping closer. When it got close enough, Jeff lashed his arm out, spooking the bird. It frantically tried to flail from his clenched grip.   

During the struggle, Jeff heard a small snap, watching as it flopped to the ground. Flapping only with one wing now, broken. Damn. He sighed and stood, leaving the animal to scurry off into the thicket. It would adapt, pigeons were like that, but he didn’t want a pigeon that couldn’t fly. For his birthday he had asked for a birdhouse, but his father had laughed and called him a sissy for liking birds.  

Well, Jeff thought his dad was sissy for picking on his wife. So, he conceded to getting his own birds one way or another. However, they die easily from “stress”, Liu said.  

“You can’t keep it in a shoe box for fucks sake.” He had tossed the limp bird out their bedroom window, abandoned to the elements of nature below. He had discovered it after it began to smell foul, “You’re seriously too old for this shit.” 

Meandering about the woods, he kicked at the ground in boredom until a voice had interrupted his aimlessness.  

Multiple voices, approaching from the school. Jeff’s face twisted in recognition, jaw ticking. Randy, the only one whose name he bothered remembering because– compared to the others– he was the only one of any note.  

Inexplicably cruel in a way Jeff couldn’t emulate, kind of cool when he wasn’t slobbering over his words to spit them out in time. Randy, along with a group of others, emerged from between some trees, pausing when his eyes landed on Jeff. He smiled like he was fighting a laugh and tapped the pudgier boy on his left.  

“Does anyone else smell shit?” He approached, a crooked grin on his face. 

“Randell.” Jeff nodded back at him, not retreating as the foxy haired boy closed the distance between them.  

One of the girls was looking at Jeff, and he quickly recognized her as Mrs. Goelet’s daughter. They had the same nose and slender neck. He bit back a smile at her, but she simply looked at Randy apprehensively.  

Randy was smiling at him with his wolf-like and crooked teeth, “Why didn’t you invite me out here? Aren't we best friends?” The group behind him chuckled, passing glances at each other. Jeff didn’t get the joke. 

“I’ll let you know next time. Since you want to see me so bad.” He meant it as a dig, implications slathered in insult. But really, he meant it. Maybe one day he could show Randy his pig farm, then he’d know how bad pig shit really smelt.  

Randy grabbed him by the arm, forced joviality forgotten, tight lipped as he seethed out, “Who the fuck would want to go anywhere near you?” The group behind were looking on, hungrily, like a pack of hyenas waiting for their turn.  

Jeff was on the ground in seconds, legs buckling, Randy towering above him with clenched fists. Someone yelled something, a plea or sneer. He couldn't discern which among the cacophony of jeers and insults hurled at him.    

Randy leaned over Jeff's silhouette, spitting as he spoke, “Piss off, faggot!”  

Jeff stood back up, dusting himself off, shoulder checking Randy as he walked away. He passed that girl again, who kept her head down in shame as he stared at her. Reminded him of Liu.  

Jeff didn’t know who did it at first, but someone had kicked the back of his knee. Clad in dark baggy jeans they couldn’t see the still aggravated lesions beneath the fabric. Fiery pain undulated from the contact, sharp and unrelenting. 

On impulse, he struck, whipping around elbow first and a crunch echoed among the foliage. Writhing in the dirt, clutching his must-be broken nose as pained whimpers left him, was the large kid Randy had taped earlier.  

The kid—Troy, he discovered from Randy’s exclamation– was staring at him with a mixture of fear and anger.  

Jeff stared back, his elbow smeared with blood, fingers buzzing. His throat constricted with cold, insistent excitement. He was angry, sure, but this was something. Moments like this made the dull repetitive drawl of school worthwhile. 

A dull pain radiating up his torso snapped him out of his glare. A rock clattered to the ground beside him. He watched it skid to a halt in the dirt. Someone had thrown a rock at him. 

Whipping his head back up,  his eyes landed on a raw-boned skinhead kid with gritted teeth.  

He was all knees and elbows, holding another rock in hand, standing just behind Randy. The group of kids mirrored his savage expression, an array of disgust and hatred. Okay, Jeff soothed internally, you can’t take all of them.  

Searching for an escape, he landed on utilizing his coltish limbs to get the fuck out of there, back burning with the heat of Randy's glare. However, his concern likely outweighed his anger, Randy didn’t give chase. Still, he found ample opportunity to shout after Jeff. 

“You’re done Woods! You’re fucking done!”   

Jeff sprinted, overwhelmed with adrenaline, his chest tight with exertion. He ran all the way home, not stopping once.  

It was a trek. Normally, Liu drove them to and from school in his pickup. For as long as Jeff could remember anyway, Liu would often spiel on and on about how bad the commute was before he got his hands on the beat-up thing. Cold sweat trickling down his spine, he opted to avoid the leering wooden house with peeled paint and deck caved in on one side.  

Instead, he ran straight to the pig pen, ducking his head into the squealing solitude.  

Maymay had squirming piglets, which paused their suckling to stare at him restlessly, clutching closer to their indifferent mother. She was used to him. The consequence of being barred from slaughter meant the pigs didn’t fear him much.  

Their squealing died down, a whine and huff sounding from the back of the pen. His dog, roused from the commotion, stood lazily and inched closer to him with an eager tail. Jeff clutched the hound tightly, allowing him to fall asleep clutched in his grasp.  

He was shaking, he realized, his flesh humming from adrenaline. Unlike birds, people don't stop  after you crack them. The birds just hate you, and he doubted they’d come back if he left out feed. Chest twisting, he cried out in frustration, causing the dog to stir awake and lick his hand in appeasement.  

All this energy, all this want and need, and he had nowhere to put it.  

Liu didn't even fight him anymore, no matter what he said, as their father had forced him into fearful resignation long ago. Randy was something, though, something on the precipice he couldn't reach because they all huddled together like scared animals. It’s not like Randy couldn’t put up a good fight alone, so what’s with all the people?  

“Always, always.” He muttered into dusty fur, “It’s not fair, never goes my way!” His voice peaked, the welts on his legs painfully prevalent.  

The piglets squealed at his tantrum, only serving to further his frustration, jealousy curdling in his stomach. Piglets could do as they please, drink themselves stupid and scream without repercussions. Until their slaughter, which Jeff was denied the privilege of. One piglet, he took liberty with one piglet—he just wanted to know if they all sounded the same. Now, the slaughter stained him, and fuck his hands were still buzzing.  

He must have rocked back and forth in that pen for hours until a stocky figure ducked in alongside him. He sighed in defeat when he saw his brother. Liu hooked his fingers harshly through Jeffs shirt collar, dragging him out, murmuring that he stank. The sun was setting now, casting long, intimidating shadows from the tree line.  

His brother all but tossed him fully clothed into the shower, turning on the water that was always cold by the evening.  

Mud, sweat and feed melted from the persistent spray of water. Jeff shook fiercely as the stream soaked his hair over his face, staring down at the swirling stream of muck sinking into the drain. Jeff felt pulled toward that dark cavern, but his brother lifted him out. He always did, when Jeff strayed too far from the beaten path, it was Liu who corralled him back to normality. 

“Mom got a call from school.” Liu’s face was stern, “Was told to get you, been looking for hours.” 

Jeff hugged himself under the water, “I like the pen.” He shrugged. 

“Gross.” Liu chided, “Thought you grew out of that.”  

“I wanted my dog.” 

Liu rolled his eyes at that, exasperated, “Broken nose, Jeff. Family wants us to pay.” 

Jeff just snorted, making Liu raise his brows. He rolled his tongue under his bottom lip, visibly angry, and he threw his hands up, “Alright, fine. Y’know what? Keep being a freak with your fucking pigs and fucking dog.” 

He stomped away, and Jeff’s hand twitched after him. He should apologize, should take some responsibility, really, but he didn’t want to. He said nothing, and with his hand braced on the bathroom door, Liu turned one more time.  

“Jeff, I graduate at the end of the year. I want my own life. I won’t always be here to clean up your messes.” he slammed the door, leaving Jeff to clean himself up before supper. 

They didn’t speak to each other for a week, but to Jeff, it might as well have been months. In a way, Liu was right, Jeff’s perpetual boredom continuously led to him getting tangled in trouble. But it wasn’t his fault everything was so under stimulating, so predictable.  

Sitting in class, he tuned back in, catching himself staring at the neck of the girl in front of him. Mrs. Goelet’s daughter; he should really learn her name.  

She was taller than most girls, and Jeff noticed she slouched often. Maybe she was insecure over her height? Jeff never understood women’s insecurities.  

When his mother would pester him about her appearance, he was baffled.  

‘Do I look fat? Am I beautiful?’ she’d query with distant eyes as she would dress up for his father, desperate for Jeff's approval. He’d sit on the edge of his bed while she tried on outfit after outfit, awaiting his commentary with bated breath. The one time she’d asked Liu, he’d brushed her off, not interested in the plight of womanhood.  

Jeff, however, was honest...always. 

Even when the corners of her eyes crinkled in hurt at his remarks, Mrs. Woods always came to him.  

“I only ever wanted a girl...” she confessed in a drunken stupor one night, her clothes strewn about the bedroom floor and her makeup smeared haphazardly around her face. Immediately making a then seven-year-old Jeff promise to never tell a soul.  

She had wrapped her hair for the night taking her Valium with shaking hands, putting her flask back under the bedside table. Jeff never told; he liked knowing something about her no one else did.  

He concluded the girl's slouch was a silly insecurity, she would look much better standing tall. The line from the part of her hair to the nape of her neck was disrupted by the poor posture.  

At this point, it was bothering him. He flicked the loose lead of his pencil at her, causing her to whip around with a scorned look on her face that quickly softened to embarrassment upon seeing her assailant's identity. She smiled sheepishly and turned back around; Jeff threw the remainder of his pencil at her.  

“What?” She hissed in frustration.  

“Go with me?” 

Jane was pleasant like her mother, if not a carbon copy of her save her choice of dress. Often dressed in dark regalia with lace and smokey eyeliner. She followed him like a dog to the back of the gymnasium, fiddling with her thumbs, anticipating.  

She sat on the stump he was on last time he’d come out here, tucking her skirt beneath herself when Jeff pointed to it. She seemed to be waiting for something, as if she expected something from Jeff.  

In the awkward tension, she broke the silence, “I’m sorry about last time.”  

She spoke quickly, and when receiving no response beyond a quick look, she stuttered out, “I—its...I don’t like Randy.” She explained, shifting uncomfortably.  

Still, Jeff didn’t dignify her with a response, causing her words to spill out uncontrollably. “I don’t know why I hung out with him. I don’t anymore—I don't know, I thought he was cool. Clearly, he’s not, I mean he’s a bully and I know that now and,” She took a deep breath, “I’m sorry.” 

Before she could continue, Jeff decided it was his turn to speak.  

“Jane,” He stated plainly, “I know you’re a good girl.”  

That made her skin itch; however, she tried to ignore the feeling. Jeff couldn’t mean any harm; she knew he was a bit...different. His accent a mix of the local western drawl and Eastern European inflections, he often spoke in odd and, at times, disconcerting ways.  

Jane would chalk it up to cultural differences, as her mom always told her to be nice to everyone. Even if they seemed different.  

Because of her kind nature, she had been sat next to Randy for most of the year. The teachers assumed she would be a good influence on him. He was cruel, but popular somehow. So when she was invited to hang out with them at lunch, she accepted.  

Her morals reached a crossroads when the boy she was meant to help ended up attacking someone–Jeff– unprompted. Jane decided she preferred Jeff’s company. 

Jeff, who was now rustling around in the bushes, back turned to the girl. She awkwardly tucked her hair behind her ear, “Hey, Jeff...” She looked around the trees, the environment blending into an endless ocean of vegetation. The world felt hazy as alarm bells began ringing in her ears, “What are we doing out here?” 

He looked at her this time, halting his motion to smile toothily, “I want to show you something.”  

He whispered like it was a secret. Glee dancing in his tone as he returned to the rustling.  

He grabbed something from the bushes, causing Jane to lean forward in curiosity, brows knitted together. He covered most of it with his jumper, but the foul smell was pungent. Jane wrinkled her nose.  

She snarled a bit as Jeff approached closer, but her curiosity beckoned her to stay. As Jeff unfurled his arms, Janes face twisted into vile detest at what lay in his hands. Nausea roiled through her body in sickening waves at the sight. 

Bloated, leaking puss with cloudy eyes, was a deceased piglet Jeff cradled delicately. Its skin looked rubbery, dull, and for a moment, Jane tried to convince herself it was some disturbed art piece. But the smell was undeniable.  

The stench of death hung heavily in the air, smothering her. She gagged and then doubled over, dry heaving and sputtering out bile.  

Jeff stood motionless, watching her, unflinching. Jane looked up through her lashes at him, panting, but he just looked back at her with no change in his expression. Still holding the deceased pig. 

“God,” she sputtered, acid in her throat, “put it away! What’s wrong with you!” 

Jeff’s lips twitched with a laugh, “I did, I just took it back out.” 

“You’re fucking sick, stay away from me.” She rasped, eyes burning from the acidity in her throat, stumbling away from him in a hurry. 

His smile faltered for a moment, “They sound different.” 

“What?” 

“When they die, they all sound different.” 

Jane did not like Jeff anymore, and she went home early. Too afraid to tell anyone what she saw, telling her mom it was just a stomach bug.  

Jeff hopped into his brother's car with a fat smile on his face. Liu scoffed, refusing to break his vow of silence, and the two drove home wordlessly. The towns' structures became few and far between the closer they got to home.  

Liu rolled down the windows at some point, side eyeing his brother occasionally, nose crinkled in disgust. Jeff had his gaze transfixed on the open road, shifting in his seat restlessly. If the two were talking, Liu would surely question the sudden excitement oozing from Jeff.  

Jeff's enthusiasm remained through the duration of dinner, uncaring for the flies that landed periodically on the meat and beet soup. Popping the insects between his teeth as he chewed. 

It earned him a swift swipe to the back of the head as Mr. Woods walked past before seating himself at the head of the table. Their mother emerged from the kitchen with glassy eyes, placing a soft hand on his head. Soothing the dull ache, Jeff felt those nimble and familiar fingers in his wiry locks. 

Jeff gazed up at his mother, leaning into the touch. Liu, unable to take the lunacy of it all, stood suddenly from the table, his chair grinding against the wooden floor.  

“Boy!” His father corrected, “You sit until you’re excused!” Food and spittle fell from his mouth and onto the table, his fist striking the varnished wooden table with a bang.  

“I’m not hungry!” He retorted, already disappearing up the stairs.  

Mr. Woods looked to his son who was now boldly staring him down as his mother's hand slowly retreated from his dark hair.  

His eyes were wild, dancing across the room, practically vibrating as they did so. Almost taunting. 

For a moment, Mr. Woods just stared back, eyes narrowed. Then, in a swift motion, he stood, grappling for him with a manic, crazed snarl on his mouth. His chair clattered behind him, crashing into the floor with a bang. 

His mother retreated against the wall with labored breath, pupils dilated in anticipation. Watching the scene unfold with blown pupils.  

Jeff held his fork in a challenging grip, mimicking his father's threatening stance. He, too, was now shorter than Jeff, something that satisfied a dark part of the boy. To look down on his father in this matter, kindled that burning desire inside him. 

Mr. Woods shoved the table, plates shuddering and food scattering, but Jeff held his ground. Mr. Woods face was a dark shade of rage, the tips of his ears red, a feverish glint perspirating on his forehead.  

“You little fucker! You better run, you better get the fuck out of here!” He hollered, sloppily grabbing his plate and waving it wildly above his head.  

Jeff grabbed his own and, without hesitation, hurled it at the man, consequences be damned. It bounced off his abdomen and shattered onto the floor, covering the space between them in sharp, dirty shards.  

His mother found her voice, shrieking and pawing at the air around Jeff. 

“Oh no honey,” she wailed, “Oh no darling, stop it! Stop it!” 

Her glossy eyes shined, frantic but distant, examining Jeff but somehow unseeing. She held onto nothing, grasping at the air with shaking hands. 

Before his father could catch his breath, Jeff twisted on his heels and sprinted up the creaking steps.  

He hadn’t even touched the bedroom handle when Liu’s open palm shot out and dragged him into the room. Both brothers held the door shut as it bowed from the unrelenting fury of their father’s fist.  

Soon enough, the old man grew tired and yielded, sputtering after their mother who was still wailing from the halls.  

The brothers breathed together for a while, unsure if the tirade had finished just yet. Only when the distant moans and yells abjured, did they calm. Looking at one another for a moment, it was Liu who slowly rested his forehead against his brothers and closed his eyes. Drinking in the silence, the stillness. 

 Jeff spoke, impossibly quiet, “Are you still mad at me?” He sounded child-like. Liu chuckled breathily and then shook his head, separating the two. 

He held Jeff's shoulders in a solid grip and looked at him, “No, I stopped being mad a while ago.”  

Jeff smiled and nodded, falling into Liu's embrace. His broad hands caressed the back of Jeff’s hair. More grounding than the feathery touch of his mother, whose affection felt distant and held expectations.  

Jeff’s smile fell, “I killed a piglet again.” he confessed. 

“I know. It’s okay.”  

Life resumed to normalcy, if only their own obtuse version of it. Mr. Woods had stormed out of the house as early as he woke, fire in his wake, their mother might as well have been sedated by it. She stood over the sink, cleaning one of the pots for hours, the skin of her hands cracked and sappy. That became the new routine, a welcome change for the duo, who’d much rather deal with their mother’s uncanny dissonance than their father’s unbridled rage. 

School was also surprisingly normal. No one pulled Jeff aside for his little stunt with Goelet’s daughter.  

He was saddened to see her seat empty that week, and the week that followed. He stopped going to that class shortly after.  

Liu was overall better for it; he had made some friends in the absence of his brother, but there was always some kind of block.  

He had met a girl, a nice one from the church. He lied about still going, despite not attending since he was small, and she ate it up. The rest of her friends, though, were moody and confusing to him. He often resorted to silence as his default response. One of her friends had said he was “mysterious” which, to him, felt like “weird freak” in a prettier package.  

Despite this, they still invited Liu to a party. Apparently, it was one of the girl's birthdays or something. It was an open invite, too, so Liu had hoped to drag Jeff along. Lately, he had been spending more time with his dog than anyone else.  

Since the piglet incident, Jeff had even been avoiding the pen, Maymay squealing at him upon arrival with newfound fear.  

Their father, luckily, hadn’t noticed the missing one. That, or he assumed the runt died and was eaten by the other pigs. Jeff was particular with the piglet he chose, knowing which one wouldn’t be missed.  

Mr. Woods was sparsely in the home lately, residing in the pub during his waking hours. He left the slaughter business to abandon, which troubled Liu deeply. Their mother wasn’t much consolation, as she seemed to withdraw further each day, meals becoming more miserable as a result. Poorly paired flavors in favor of filling the family's bellies, food unwatched left to spoil.  

“Jeff.” The eldest stood at the door of their room, poking his head inside, “Come with me tonight.” 

Jeff was lounging on the rickety bed, arms outstretched and head lolled to the side. A cigarette hung lamely against his bottom lip; a magazine adorned with various scantily clad women in his grasp. 

“Why?” 

Liu shrugged, “Might be fun, get out the house and talk to people.” 

“Spare me,” he responded firmly, “that's sounds lame...” 

Liu shifted, “There’ll be girls?” he suggested, quirking a brow.  

At that, Jeff seemed to pause and consider his brother's words. Wordlessly, he stood and began to rifle through his closet, searching for something to wear. Liu released a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding and nodded at Jeff.  

“I’ll be downstairs.”  

The party was fine at best. Jeff was wearing his baggy white hoodie and some distressed jeans with his sneakers, whereas Liu bore an old wifebeater, jumper and his work jeans. Liu’s cross necklace caught the light when he fiddled with it between his fingers. The scent of smoke and beer carried through a backdrop of rainy weather that beat against the tin roof of the home.  

It was a quaint set up decorated with warm light, and people sprawled across all surfaces. Liu had quickly found the church girl, as foreign as her presence here seemed to be, and stuck by her for what felt like hours.  

Jeff disappeared somewhere into the smokey haze of the living room, muttering something under his breath Liu didn’t catch. Liu sipped on a cold beer that the church girl had presented to him on his arrival. She was blonde, with square shoulders and minimal makeup that allowed a dusting of moles and freckles to peek through. 

‘Real marriage material.’ his father would say upon seeing her full figure and long hair pulled into a ponytail. Liu concluded she was too nice to bring home if things continued.  

As far as he could tell, she was happy to see him, occasionally gripping his arms and chest as they talked. Feeling brave, he tucked a stray hair behind her ear and watched her cheeks flush pink. She smiled while batting her light lashes, pushing closer to him. His heart stuttered in his chest at the proximity. He opened his mouth to speak, to ask her to sneak off somewhere private but was interrupted. 

A loud crash broke the tension, both of them whipping their heads around to follow the sound.  

The chaos was blinding. Smoke obscured his vision, and after coughing and waving it away he could faintly see glass scattered on the ground and the living room table tipped on it’s side.  

The second thing he noticed were the jean clad legs that lay gangly on the ground with a foxy figure hovering above them.  

Jeff was slumped on his back, tossed over the tipped table, clutching his stomach with a wince. Randy balled his fists and leaned menacingly close to him, canines flashing. His brother was snarling viscously, his blue eyes catching the yellow light with pupils like pin pricks as they glared at Randy.  

The red head’s clenched knuckles were bloody and pink from impact, tainted by Jeff’s gushing nose. The blonde girl gasped in shock and clutched Liu’s arm, digging her fingertips in the flesh. But he shoved her off, almost blindly, making her stumble as she tried to catch her balance.   

Liu pushed through the anticipatory crowd that watched on in hungry fascination. They parted for him as he hurried to his brother's side. 

The scene became clearer as he approached. A pudgy boy with a crooked nose stood with a self-assured smirk next to a thin, pale kid who peeked behind Randy. All of them held his vengeful stare.  

Jeff didn’t break his gaze once, even when Liu’s legs entered his peripheral vision.  

“Got you, fucker.” Randy spit. 

“Yeah, you did, now get lost.” Liu retorted, posturing next to his brother. Jeff stood back up, nursing his bruises and brushing sparse glass from his now tattered hoodie. Randy looked at  Liu, crinkling his nose. 

“Holy shit,” the skinny kid started with a stupid smile, “two for one!”  

Randy glanced behind him, “Shut it, Kieth!” He turned back to face Liu, “No one was talking to you, hick.”  

He spat the last word with venom,  face scrunching with offense, as if the brunette's mere presence was a challenge to his ego.  

“Well,” Liu took a step forward, “I’m talking now. So, you can talk to me.” Jeff’s eyes flickered between the two, hands flexing as they hung by his thighs, ready for whatever came next.  

Randy laughed heartily, to which his little back up squad mimicked submissively. Without another word, Randy's fist shot forth, but Liu was an artful dodger to quick and violent hands.  

Avoiding the impact, he took the opportunity to jab Randy in his side with his elbow. He was winded from the assault; Liu by all accounts had a lot more force and power behind him. Easily crumpling the paper boy on his tower of cards, body like a strong wind that stole his breath.  

The two behind Randy looked taken aback for a moment, but the shrill scream of some girl in the crowd broke them out of it. Kieth went to comfort his friend, while Troy stood tall with a sharp inhale, a bead of sweat rolling over his nose and down his chin.  

Liu heard the crunching of glass into the carpeted ground as Jeff overtook his position now. Despite the hunch in his back, he was far taller than the fatter boy across from him. Jeff was like a serpent, coiled, dancing, swaying threateningly while staring the boy down. 

“Troy,” Jeff spoke with a grin etched into his face, “I’ll put it back into place for you.” He reached for Troys nose, hand hovering inches away from his face. The veiled threat sent the boy out the door, retreating before any conflict continued. Randy's jaw clenched at the spectacle, his eyes widening as he yelled after the boy.  

Randy straightened his back, “Fucking useless.”  

He tossed an expecting look at Kieth, who despite his stature, seemed far more capable of holding his own. Perhaps a product of false confidence.  

He attempted to rush Liu. Why he went for the stacked figure no one would understand. Liu, on reflex, knocked him in the jaw, shaking his fist at the lingering sting. Kieth was surprisingly durable however, and ate the hit with impressive resilience, brushing it off.  

He elected for a different method the second time around, gabbing one of the copious sharp objects on the ground and lunging for Liu, swinging in a frenzy. 

Liu raised his arms defensively, gritting his teeth when he was slashed across the forearm. It was deep, crimson running in hot rivulets down his arm. He hissed, knitting his brows, braced for another attack.  

He poised himself,  ready to snatch the makeshift weapon out of the scrawny fuckers' hands. Yet, the second attack never came. Instead, Liu gaped, watching as the attacker's eyes bulged out of his skull. He was hoisted inches off the ground by the material of his shirt. With a sharp smack, he was slammed into the shrapnel littering the ground. Jeff towering above the body beneath him now. 

Unfortunately, unlike Jeff’s thick hoodie, the boy had a singlet on, and Kieth yelped as he made contact with the rough debris, knees stinging furiously.  

Randy, who still had his hands placed protectively over his torso, took a step back. Liu was ready to utilize the moment of pause, muscles coiled and ready to spring.  

But before he could, his attention was drawn away by Jeff, who straddled a whimpering Keith on the ground with his teeth bared in an open grin. He released a series of unrelenting attacks upon his face, blood splattering across his sweatshirt, seeping deeply into the fabric. The white fibers of the hoodie congealed from the onslaught of dark liquid.  

The blows escalated from dull thuds to wet squelches of viscera. Liu was frozen in place, entranced by the horror, unable to get himself to move. When Jeff didn't relent even after Kieth had stopped twitching, the morbid entertainment at the conflict dissolved from the crowd, who began to protest in fear. 

“Holy shit, he’s gonna kill him!” Someone among the haze of faces exclaimed, dread and panic evident in their voice. The crowd started undulating in an agitated swarm, voices rising, manic.  

Finally, Liu’s feet were released from where they were planted against the floor. He cupped his brother under the arm and dragged him off the unmoving figure, tearing Jeff away as if he were a rabid animal.  

Keith laid as a bloody pulp on the ground, motionless. Randy was shuddering violently, hands  tugging at his hair in raw terror.  

Before the crowd could riot or process the boy's state, Liu stumbled away with Jeff, who was staring at the scene with a content smile. 

His fingers fumbled fruitlessly for his keys in his pocket, and he yelled for Jeff to get in the car, urgently, finally managing to grab his keys.  

Jeff was laughing, chest heaving with mirth, his lips curled in a heinous imitation of joy.  

Liu floored the gas, paranoia swirling in his gut with growing nausea and dread. He felt as though he were being suffocated, his throat constricting, unable to suck in enough air.  

Surely, surely the boy would get up? 

His face was unrecognizable after the attack, swollen and sputtering, gruesome. His fingers had twitched and gone limp at his side. Liu swallowed hard, shaking the thoughts away, banishing them. Periodically, Liu would glance at his brother in his peripherals. But for the entire ride home, Jeff's grin never faltered.  

In quiet moments, Liu could hear the muffled sounds of a snicker.  

The road was illuminated only by the pickup's headlights, hardly penetrating the smothering darkness. Which didn’t help Liu’s anxiety. If anyone was following them, the dark country roads wouldn't reveal it. Liu could only see right beyond the beams of light on the path in front of him, the surroundings a blackened inky sea, swirling nauseatingly. Liu’s knuckles whitened against the steering wheel. 

Liu ushered his brother inside, head wildly snapping back and forth. When the door shut behind them, Liu took his time peeking through the windows before pulling the blinds closed.  

When he was sure they hadn’t been followed, he gripped his hair with growing desperation, profanities tumbling from his mouth. He paced around the living room while Jeff sat on the couch sneaking looks at him through his bangs.  

He’d stopped smiling, finally, but the corners of his lips still twitched from the comedown of the high.  

Liu spun on his heels to face his brother, “What,” he accused, “is wrong with you? What the fuck is wrong with you?”  

His voice was shrill, but his brother remained infuriatingly impassive, shrugging and folding his  into his lap. His pupils were blown out, large like a feline zeroed in on a mouse, and his breath came in soft pants.  

He looked eerily calm, restrained.  

Liu's face flushed in frustration, “You could’ve killed him, Jeff! Oh God, he might already be dead...” Liu slid his back against the wall, crumpling into himself.  

Jeff’s face fell, “He’s not dead.” he spoke sternly, brows drawing together. 

“How do you know that?”  

“Because I could feel his breath!” At that response, Liu’s mouth hung open at the audacity.  

He wanted to snap back, to retort, but couldn’t find the words. It was a senseless justification; he might’ve been still alive when they left, but that many hits to the head didn’t bode well. Before Liu could muster a response, the silence of the night was broken by a bellowing bark and symphony of shrieks.  

The Pen.  

The pyrenees was going wild, snarls and barks so vicious you could hear the snapping of teeth colliding with one another.  

The brothers were quick to move, exchanging a wide eyed look, quickening their pace the closer they got to the chaos.  

As they crossed the field, drawing closer, the brothers became aware of twin lights in the distance, breaking the empty air darkness, illuminating the unseen insects and dust swirling in the air. The wails and barks were rabid, darkness engulfing the scene, shrouding it in the unknown.  

The boys heaved as they reached the pen, staggering to stand between the opening and the mystery car.  

The dog was positioned on his hind legs, corners of its mouth frothing with saliva. The rumbling engine of the car cut, and from the abyss emerged Randy, red hair illuminated by the light. Something hidden in his grip caught the light, glinting. 

The night air was swallowed by barking, the dog practically howling, teeth gnashing. 

Jeff and Liu stood  apprehensively, backs to the pen, eyes trained on the approaching Randy. 

“I’m going to fucking kill you!” Randy seethed, lunging forward with a brandished pocket knife in hand.  

Liu instinctively grappled for Jeff, intending to push him out of the way. But Randy collapsed into the wet mud unceremoniously. A blood curdling scream pierced their ears, and Randy thrashed desperately in the mud, ankle firmly clamped between the dog's jaws. The dog swung its head wildly, saliva turning from a white foam into a deep red, meddling with the blood slowly soaking into the fabric of his socks.  

He continued to shriek, raising his knife high above his head, trying and failing to strike the beast down. The Pyrenees was a formidable opponent, though, and it lunged for the boy’s face. In the midst of trying to pry away the teeth that sunk into his supple flesh, Randy dropped the blade into the grass below. His arms flailed, fruitlessly trying to find purchase on the blade that was eaten by the soft earth and oppressive darkness.  

Jeff lunged forward, grabbing a handful of his dog's scruff, pulling flesh and muscle as he reeled back. Randy clutched the marred skin, blood gushing between his fingers. He writhed around the dirt in pain, screams turning into weak pants.  

“What in God’s name!” Mr. Woods was roused by the onslaught of echoing wails and was standing, gun in hand, lit up in the beams of Randy’s headlights.  

It didn’t take long for the ambulance to arrive, wheeling away a disoriented Randy on a stretcher. Jeff and Liu gave their statements to the police on the scene. Jeff's hands hadn't left the dog's bloody fur as the night unfolded, red and blue lights shimmering against the crimson splattered on the ground.  

The police deemed the incident an unfortunate result of trespassing by foolish kids.  

They both received a warning for the night, the knife attack being hearsay since Randy couldn't land a blow and no one could locate the weapon. It also helped that Troy had dogged his friends in, confessing teary eyed to his mother that he didn't want to be friends with them anymore. That, coupled with the nasty gash on Liu’s forearm, relieved the family of most consequence.  

Kieth was also fortunately still alive, already roused from unconsciousness in hospital. All things considered, the night concluded a lot better than anticipated. Rattled but safe, the family returned inside to forget about the night altogether, falling into restless slumber. 

For the next month, Randy’s father came to their door daily, threatening the family. Mr. Woods was the one to answer first, and had promptly slammed the door shut in the man's face. He would peer through the window, yelling belligerently, cursing the family for what they did to his son.  

“I’ll get you and that rotten mutt!” he had exclaimed repeatedly, vein popping in his forehead.  

Even when Randy got out of hospital, the abuse didn’t subside, with the father gathering his own extensive bloodline to stalk around the property provocatively.  

Jeff started sleeping in the pen again, feeling indebted to his loyal companion. He cooed over him and soothed him against the persistent heckling, hushing him when he would tense at the taunts. He slept, face pressed against his white coat, in case anyone dared to overstep that fence and be a vigilante.  

He would wake occasionally to the sound of rocks hitting the pen, once even stirring awake to the smell of meat thrown over the fence, hitting the dirt with a wet thump.  

Bait, Randy’s folks were attempting to bait his dog. He hugged that fur tighter every night.  

Liu and his father would take shifts sitting on the rocking chair on the old porch, shotgun at arm's length. Mrs. Woods would be seen sporadically peeking out the windows, paranoia drawing her face into tight lines.  

The tension wasn’t dying down anytime soon, so the brothers had no choice but to return to school and attempt to complete the year. Their peers had returned to avoiding the brothers like the plague, whispering accusations and poisonous rumors as they passed.  

One gloomy night, Jeff had returned home from a long day of school with Liu and headed back out to prepare some feed for the week. Like usual, he dropped his bag on the floor, kicking his sneakers off and stuffing his feet into the faded, mud-soaked wellies propped against the wall.  

He made way to the pen, eager to see his boy after a long day of boredom. Peeking his head into the entryway, he searched the room, bewildered when he didn't catch hide nor hair of his fluffy companion. The pigs oinked at him curiously with wide eyes. He pursed his lips. 

Ducking back out, he began checking along the outside, searching diligently for signs of life. However, his dog wasn't patrolling the perimeter, either.  

No bother, he could be off relieving himself, Jeff reasoned. Yet, a creeping sense of unease tangled in his chest. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he took a deep inhale of the chilly air. Using the lungful to project his voice, breath billowing around his face, he began to call for him. 

His feet planted into the sludge as he trudged around the property, a deep pit forming in his gut. The cold felt constricting the longer he was outside and fruitlessly searching, his cheeks stinging with its touch.  

After a good half hour of this, his breathing became increasingly ragged, mind racing with unfavorable conclusions. The sun crested the trees, casting a weak golden glow on the darkening fields. Empty. Jeff jogged back inside.  

Uncaring about the tracks of mud he left in his wake,  Jeff frantically searched the house. He practically turned it upside down, checking in places the big Pyrenees couldn't possibly fit. His movements were progressively more manic, calling to the dog every few moments.  

Maybe...maybe his dog came inside? Maybe his father let the dog indoors to avoid the assailants.  

Liu still wasn’t home yet, and Mr. Woods was seated in his recliner, reading the newspaper, oblivious to the world around him. Jeff paused his erratic searching to face his father. 

“Sir?” He cautioned, not wanting to set him off. Finding his dog was of paramount importance, and if that meant being civil with his father, so be it. Mr. Woods grunted in response, as if to say, ‘get on with it, boy.’ 

Jeff continued, forcefully casual, “Have you seen the dog today?” 

Mr. Woods licked his thumb, the crinkling of the paper deafening as he turned the page. 

“The dog?” Jeff encouraged, expecting an answer. 

Mr. Woods shook his head, “More trouble than it was worth, boy.”  

The air felt liquid, and time seemed to halt altogether. Jeff didn’t feel his limbs moving, nor did he notice the change in the weather when he went back outside.  

His mind felt slower than the world around him as the pen came into view. Shadows cast by the trees hung accusatory across the dirt path and Jeff's knees buckled as he collapsed into the wooden opening.  

He eyed the flattened earth, marked from years of heavy slumber from his precious mutt. He crawled along the ground, dirt packing into his nails and smearing along his knees. His throat was tight, he wasn't able to suck in enough air, his vision narrow. 

Some of the pigs waddled their fat bodies closer, curious, snorting the air around Jeff. He curled up into the depression in the ground, tucking his legs and arms close. Jeff hugged himself and wailed. Taken from him, it was all taken from him.  

His tether to humanity, the one thing beneath him he still found care for. Gone in one cruel action. 

He sobbed and wailed like a child until his body gave out.  

Liu found him that morning, tossing an old blanket over his shaking form. His lips were blue and the tips of his fingers and nose were bitten from the cold. Every shaky breath manifested in cloudy white puffs of air inches from his face. His eyes were open and bloodshot, staring blankly into nothing.  

Snot and tears were crusted dryly onto his face. Liu gazed on sympathetically; he managed to piece together what had happened. His warm hand fell onto his brother's shoulder, rubbing comforting circles along his arm.  

Jeff didn’t react to the contact, continuing to stare off into space, unseeing. Liu released his hold with a brief squeeze, dragging the hand down his own face.  

He was tired. Of all of it. He felt aged and ragged and had no resolve anymore, as if he had been thrown into the whirling depths of exhaustion and despair, unable to claw his way out. He looked at the pathetic mess of his sibling, who seemed so far away at his feet. It was the first time in a while that Liu felt taller than his brother. 

“One night.” He told him, “One more night you can stay here, and then I'm taking my brother back.”  

There was a small flicker of acknowledgement in Jeff’s cloudy vision and Liu left him like that.  

Tomorrow, he’d take his brother inside, clean him up, and scrounge together a way to get them both out of there.  

Their father had abandoned his duties as the breadwinner, recognizing that the brothers were getting too big to keep under his thumb and at his mercy. Jeff’s revolt had frightened him and the man for a moment, he recognised his wife in those wild eyes. 

He turned to the bottle, face perpetually red, speech slurred, and it wouldn’t be much longer before the money dried up. 

Mother had stopped cooking, wandering aimlessly in the halls of the house like a ghost. She was so disconnected from life, she might as well have already been dead.  At night, Liu would hear her nails raking along the walls, as if searching for something under the floral wallpaper. Her mind was far gone, maybe buried beneath the creaking wood of the floorboards. A distant memory of a mother haunted the home. 

When Liu prepped the feed the previous night, he found himself rationing it. The plumpness of the pigs would fade and they’d become skinny, unmarketable cuts of flesh. Discarded. 

Jeff, for all intents and purposes, was his only family left, and Liu refused to let the sickness of this home consume him too. They had a car, and they were both capable of work. Even if it meant scrubbing floors and living motel to motel, Liu would figure it out.  

He feared that any longer in this household would drive them both to lunacy.  

And on top of it all, his father had shot the dog. The dog that guarded his prized brood and kept the family fed. His father had shot it dead, and the town was still insatiable. Shadows from passing cars danced against the drawn blinds of the home, an ever-present warning. A promise. 

Yeah, Liu thought, they needed to get out of here.  

He’d allow his brother to mourn, say a final goodbye, and then Liu would drive them both as far away from the wretched home as possible. This bastardization of family, he would take it no more.  

Scrambling around their bedroom, the one they’d shared all their lives, he grabbed and stuffed whatever he thought essential into two large duffle bags he’d managed to drag out of the attic. He went over to his bed, gripping the metal frame, and he hauled it back Underneath was a floorboard that protruded outward like a waterlogged roof.  

Liu wrenched his calloused hands under the splintering wood and, with a ragged breath, pulled with all his strength to dislodge the panel from its position. Beneath the now open panel was stacks of cash Liu had spent the past year hiding from Mr. Woods.  

He had pried the panel open when he began collecting the cash, stashing it away. Any time his father questioned the missing money, he would deflect by reminding him of his wife's medication. 

It wasn’t a lot, but it would be enough for the two to survive until they figured out work.  

The biggest issue would be getting his brother hired, as they’d never had to get a job outside the farm before. And Jeff was never one for change.  

He stuffed the money deep under the clothing off the duffle bag, making sure it’d be hidden from drunken hands.  

Lui dragged the duffle bags down the stairs, placing them next to the door. Mr. Woods stared at him, bottle in hand, from the recliner he refused to move from.  

“Where the fuck do you think…think you’re going?” He slurred, barely making it through the sentence, drool seeping from the corner of his lip, eyes half lidded and glossy.  

Liu huffed as he looked at the pathetic man, “I’m taking Jeff and I away for the weekend. Until everything cools off.”  

Mr. Woods took his now empty bottle and hurled it at the floor. He sunk deeper into the recliner, disapproval painted across his features. It didn’t matter, though, because there was nothing he could do to stop Liu.  

A miserable acceptance settled over the room, like a thick fog of dissonance. A silence that held many unspoken words. Distantly, he could hear his mother's shuffling feet from upstairs. The air suddenly felt colder. 

Day melted into evening, which settled into night. Thick clouds shielded what little light the stars and moon provided in that isolated farm, and it had been a while since the fireflies had been around.  

Jeff still stared, open eyed, at nothing, limbs feeling too heavy to move. One of the piglets from Maymay’s litter had curled up near his feet, sniffing and oinking softly. He wondered if the pigs knew their protector was gone, if they missed him. He wondered if they were capable of such emotion; perhaps they only felt scared or uncertain. 

If they did, Jeff couldn’t tell either way.  

He felt thankful for the blanket draped over his body as a particularly cold gust of wind blew through the open entrance. It carried the smell of alcohol, strong enough to sting his nostrils.  

Ugh, must be his father.  

Jeff considered killing his dad; it’s not like his dad loved them anyway, and now he had a great reason to kill the man. Not to mention, Jeff knew the pigs would grow hungry soon, judging by the looks of the feed. They’d eat anything but teeth if need be.  

The dried spittle on his chin cracked as a wheezed breath escaped him, almost a laugh. He waited for his father to stumble through the door, and Jeff would strangle him right there with the blanket—leaving him to the swine.  

He started to shake, limbs tingling awake, and the strange stench grew stronger, breaking through the smell of livestock. As Jeff propped himself up on his elbows, he froze, hearing hushed whispers. 

For a moment, he thought the dehydration and lack of sleep was making him delirious, but the voices were unmistakable. Jeff pressed his good ear against the wooden wall, shushing the concerned snorts of the swine. 

Maymay peered at him wearily and everything suddenly went quiet. Even the crickets and rustling from the wind stilled.  Pressing further into the wall, Jeff heard a faint click and one distinct sentence. 

“Light this fucker up.” 

White hot flames roared to life, climbing along the wooden shed, kissing the roof before Jeff could even comprehend what was happening. All-consuming heat engulfed the shed, ignited in red and orange, black smoke choking the oxygen. The swine began running around in a flurried panic, squealing.  

It was burning, everything was burning. They screeched and tried to dart for the opening, but the unkempt wooden panels quickly collapsed inward, blocking all those present inside the indiscriminate hungry fire.  

The heat was unbearable now, licking at his flesh, singing his hair, suffocating his lungs. 

Just beyond the sound of wailing meat and hungry flames was the sound of jeers and laughter. Illuminated in red were two figures; a plump boy and a redhead. Jeff finally found his voice and he screamed his throat raw. His shirt had caught, and he could feel the fire dangerously close to the skin beneath, biting it.  

One of the pigs was alight already, spreading the flame further in its panic, running in fruitless circles, the smell of burning flesh clogging the smoke. Jeff tried to scream again, but the smoke suffocated him, scorching his lungs. He sputtered and hacked onto the ground, saliva black with soot, vision spinning.  

As more pigs collapsed, he found his voice one last time, his hysterical cry breaking through the overbearing noise of burning swine.  

Liu’s eyes cracked open, wincing at the light which penetrated through the cracks of the window. He groaned, digging his thumb and forefinger into his eyelids.  

He stood, stretching his stiff muscles, yawning  

“What is going on?” he murmured, confused.  

One eye closed, he peeked through the glowing crack of the window. For a moment, he couldn’t make sense of the scene in front of him. But when reality sunk in, he was rushing down the stairs, stumbling.  

Feet heavy, he burst out the door quicker than the locks could bear, leaving them to swing from marred hickory. His parents were stirred by the commotion, chasing after him while shouting. 

“What’s wrong with you? Boy!” Mr. Woods slurred, words dying in his throat as his eyes landed on the flames flickering in the distance.  

Suffocating, thickened ash filled the air, scents of flesh singing nostrils and howls of agony echoing.  

The pen was devoured by flames, the height of it kissing the willowy trees that hung above. Randy and Troy stood just outside the flames’ reach, faces alight with horror at the sight before them.  

Without thought, Liu tackled Randy to the ground, knocking the lighter out of his hand. He grappled his wrists, vaguely aware of his father collapsing to his knees beside him.  

“It’s gone, it’s all gone!” Mr. Woods yelled, catching the smoke in his throat, coughing.  

On cue, the roof of the pen caved in, igniting the fire anew and releasing the trapped screams inside. Some of the pigs, burning, escaped the flames and ran. None made it far, legs failing as they dropped, bodies giving out. Their skin was blackened and raw, layers of flesh and fat exposed to the cold air, eyes melted from their skulls.  

Liu grabbed Randy by the collar of his shirt, shaking him in his tight grip, “What did you do? What the fuck did you do?”  

His voice broke as his eyes became wet ,not realizing he was crying until a tear landed squarely on Randy’s face. Randy's hands were trembling, mouth opening and closing like a suffocating fish as he tried to find an excuse.  

Troy was still standing, awe struck at the flames, eyes reflecting the carnage. The squeals were dying out as seconds dragged on to minutes. 

Randy sounded like his age for once, naive and afraid, stuttering out, “We-we didn’t… we didn't know.” He shook his head frantically, “We thought it was pigs! Just pigs!” 

His words fell on deaf ears, hands releasing their grip on the collar to find the exposed throat of the fox below him. Randy quickly grasped his wrists in a weakened grip, pleading.  

Mrs. Woods approached the flames still clad in her nightdress. Her eyes were glossy, fogged with familiar distance.  

Horrified understanding trembled across her face in one fleeting sweep. She reached a hand up, concerningly close to the threshold beyond safety, twitching. Mr. Woods motioned to corral his distant wife, but paused when he noticed the now raised hand of Troy. Finger outstretched, his hand quivered as he pointed to the gulf of the fire.  

Mrs. Woods muttered, “My baby, my little girl?” Liu released his grip on the throat below him, following the line of hands into the center of the fire.  

Emerging from the flames was a figure, silhouette undeniable as it passed over the fallen structure. Feet pushing aside corpses and charred wooden planks, walking like a fresh babe without motor function.  

“Jeff?” Liu pleaded, moving closer.  

Jeff stepped forth from the flame, following the call blindly.  

For a brief moment, he seemed to smile at his brother. It was so brief, it could have been a simple trick of light. Maybe it was a mirage, created in the recesses of Liu’s mind, and maybe none of that mattered anymore.  

Before his brother’s eyes, under the smoke obscured stars and glossy gazes, Jeff collapsed to the sullen earth, and died.  

The smell of burnt livestock and feces radiated over the distant town, and in some indiscernible amount of time, sirens could be heard approaching the now settling flames. The wet earth and torrential weather were desperately welcomed to cull the manifesting death.  

Whatever money Liu had managed to scrounge up over the years had gone to setting up Jeff’s post-surgery home care. It had been several months of inpatient medical treatment and various operations to get him prepared for the return home.  

He was adorned in both compression garments and gauze, leaving his face and mouth concealed. His hands and legs remained mostly unharmed; covered in wet earth, the flames had left only first-degree burns to redden the skin. 

The rest of his body, however, was littered with both second and third-degree scarring. The taunt skin snaked around his torso in contracture stripes, occasionally making an appearance when the gauze shifted.  

The laundry list of medications and wound care the medical team had given Liu was hard to understand, the length of some of the words far surpassing his own vocabulary.  

But the fire had eaten more than just his flesh; it consumed the hearing from one ear and half the sight in his right eye, and four of his toes had to be amputated.   

He needed help to even walk to the bathroom.  

All of that was fine, though. Liu could handle it for his little brother.  

What had been bothering him the most, waking him from the ever-present nightmares, was the idea of changing the dressings.  

None of the family had seen Jeff’s face since that night.  

Their father was halfway in the grave himself, drinking so heavily he spent more time asleep than awake, alcohol always within grasp. Mrs. Woods would only leave barely edible meals outside the brother's room, and if it weren't for those plates, Liu could convince himself she had disappeared altogether. She was a ghost, swept away in the wind, shuffling feet absent. Haunting the house; present, but on a different plane.  

Therefore, Jeff’s care was left to Liu, who took on the responsibility without complaint. 

Liu sat on a chair across from the bandaged figure sleeping on the wireframe bed. The figure's chest was heaving deeply, small puffs of air escaping his open mouth.  

Liu’s hands were clasped in front of his face, brows drawn together. He felt conflicted, finding himself at a crossroad of emotion.  

He was surprised, happy, and horrified that his brother had survived. 

He wondered if his relief was selfish in nature, if his relief stemmed from fear of having to grieve his loved one, unable to imagine letting go. He wondered if, perhaps, it would have been for the best if Jeff had died that night, unceremoniously among the swine he spent the most time with.  

He knew the pain must’ve been unbearable, even with the concoction of sedatives and painkillers constantly running through his veins. From the fitful twitching, to the clammy appearance on the minimally exposed skin, it was sickeningly clear to Liu that Jeff was in pain.  

He wondered what was going through Jeff’s mind, if he was cognitive of his fate, and what that meant for his psyche. How had Jeff felt in that pen? Did he wake to the fire and smoke in a panic, scrambling for salvation with the pigs?  

It was hard for Liu to picture his brother, so wickedly self-assured and unfazed by the world, being stricken with panic and agony. Subordinate to the flames, fire, light, and consumption.  

Realising he was trapped, that this was the end. 

Except it hadn’t been, and now he was trapped once again, this time in the confines of his own scorched flesh and gauze holding him together. Liu’s brother, so dependent now, so incapable, any spark of rebellion and acidity stripped against his own volition. How could he possibly be feeling, if he felt at all? 

Liu placed a tender hand on the blanket sitting against Jeff’s chest, feeling the muscles twitch upon contact. He reached forth to cup the gauze wrapped around his face, watching his lips strain, breathing becoming more ragged. Carefully removing the metal clips to avoid furthering his discomfort, he peeled, revealing the carnage layer by layer.  

As he approached the last of the gauze, Liu's hand trembled. He withdrew, trying to shake his discomfort and gather himself.  

He reasoned internally, reminding himself that he needed to do this for him, that he wasn't the one suffering here. Against any mounting anxiety, Liu finished undressing his brother’s face. 

He was unrecognizable. A stranger laying in the spot he could have sworn Jeff occupied moments earlier.  

His skin was patchy with burst blisters, blooming primarily on the right side of his face, crawling down his neck and jaw in red spirals.  

The irritated, pink flesh looked painful, although the nurses had informed Liu that the second to third-degree burns meant extensive nerve damage and the silver lining was minimal pain.  

Where his nose once situated, there was nothing but the taut sheen of the skin graft with two dark caverns for nostrils. Reconstructive efforts had done their best to restore Jeff’s appearance, but the muscle and cartilage was too far gone, prioritizing function over aesthetics at that point. 

His right ear was flat to the side of his face, the remaining skin of the area a scaley scar with a rough surface.  

The parts of his hair that remained were short and unkempt from his hospital stay, a large chunk from his hairline recessed, presumably never to grow back.  

The eyes that gazed up at Liu were wide and unblinking, bloodshot and partially cloudy on the right side, looking past his brother. For a moment, Liu saw his brother lying in that pen the morning before, gazing distantly in mourning, and guilt settled in the eldest heart.  

If he had dragged his brother inside, wrenching him from his wallowing the morning he found him, none of this would have happened. If he had stopped his father from killing the dog, from putting a bullet in the one thing Jeff truly loved, or if he grew a spine and stood up to the man like Jeff always wanted, this could’ve all been avoided.  

But it wasn’t, and now Liu had to take responsibility for this, for his brother, for his only family.  

He was waiting for that feeling of recognition, that bond of familiarity to warm inside him. 

But there was nothing.  

The body before him felt and looked like a complete stranger; uncharted territory.  

Pushing aside the rising emotion in his chest, Liu started unwrapping the rest of the layers, revealing more burn, more red.  

He redressed the wounds hastily, eyes stinging, trying his best to maintain gentleness in his movements. He stepped back, examining the silhouette before him, swallowing the consequences of his compliance as he forced himself to look. To really look at his brother– or, at least, what was left. He turned away, unable to bear it much longer.  

He grabbed his brother's medication, washing it down his throat to minimal resistance apart from some breathy whines, ringing and reverberating through Liu's ears like a sick chime.   

Liu slumped back into the chair, throat closing up, vision blurring. His head fell into his hands and he cried. Hot tears streamed down his cheeks in fat droplets. 

His brother had died. How could he not be dead? He saw him collapse! He witnessed his brother's soul evaporating from his singed flesh, intertwining with the black smoke rising into the night sky, away from Earth, to elsewhere. 

He was mourning a man that was right in front of him and had no one to turn to.  

He was living with a corpse. The corpse of someone he loved, taunting him with wheezing breaths and unseeing eyes. 

That was how life was for months. Months that passed aqueously and seemed to slip through his fingers. A nonconsensual ravaging of his life that became total destruction of his autonomy.  

Liu’s life was consumed by caring for his brother, his parents offering no relief, choosing to retreat into their own vices. If anything, they only added to the oppressive environment, sucking the life from Liu's veins.  

All the while, Liu waited, desperately clinging to the idea of his brother, who felt more like a concept than a tangible form or person, in no way reflective of the body on the bed. 

There was nothing, nothing in those countless moments Liu spent tending to the body that was once his brother's.  

He didn't emit that familiar warmth, no longer exhibiting those quirks and features in his small movements. The earthy, laborious odor of the farm Jeff used to wear gave way to the sterile smell of bacitracin and gauze. 

Jeff never uttered a word, which was perhaps the hardest part of it all. All he did was stare off into the distance, eyes dull and lifeless, reflecting Liu's gaze back at him. Sometimes, Liu imagined that he could see an accusing tinge to his stare, as if condemning Liu. 

When he wasn't caring for the body, Liu was manically scrubbing at every surface he could reach, the house seemingly in a perpetual state of filth despite his efforts.  

The fire had left foul smelling soot that clung to one's nostrils far after it dissipated. Liu found himself cleaning the home multiple times a day, especially in the kitchen, where the open window had welcomed the filth inside.  

Scrubbing dutifully, he was lost in his own world. He was like that for a while, until his thoughts were interrupted by a disturbance upstairs.  

At first, he convinced himself it was his mother, shuffling aimlessly. But that explanation didn't last long when he heard the distinct sound of metal scraping against wood.  

Dropping the dusty rag, he trotted up the stairs, bewildered. Had Jeff gotten up? Was he moving? Did he need something, was he himself again? His heart was thrumming faster against his chest, anticipatory, hoping against all hope. 

Liu softly pried the door open, careful to avoid spooking the figure inside.  

His narrow vision from the crack in the door only allowed him to see to the corner of the room. Slowly, working from the ground up, Liu's eyes traced the figure occupying the space, his focus a sharp pinpoint. Standing there, murmurming indecipherable words, was Jeff.  

Tufts of black hair sneaked from the dressings, his exposed legs pink and blistered, quivering with disuse. The rhythm of his muttering was erratic and soft, as if he were arguing with himself.  

Liu risked cracking the door further, concerned, paranoia biting along his vertebrae. 

“Jeff?” He inquired gently, voice low. As if on cue, a large slam shook the ground behind him, tearing his attention away, the hairs on the back of his neck raising with alarm.  

When he snapped his gaze back to Jeff, his eyes practically vibrated in their sockets. Beneath the blankets, a sleeping figure laid with zero indication of movement.  

“What...what?” Liu wheezed to no one in particular, suddenly winded. He squeezed his eyes shut and closed the door again. Liu stood in the empty hall, beside himself, deciding he needed to get more sleep. He casted one last glance behind him as he trudged away, a small part of him expecting to see a clouded eye staring back at him. 

The second time an incident similar took place, Liu had been asleep. It was his sense of smell that twitched him awake, his nostrils burning. A strong odor of smoke wafted through the bedroom, parallel to the room Jeff's body occupied. He faced away from the open door, back exposed. 

Fitfully, he turned around, noticing a discarded blanket strewn across the other room's floor. The bed was vacant.  

Anxiety nipping at his heels, Liu stood, heading for the toilet, assuming Jeff would be there. He froze in place when something from the window caught in his peripherals.  

He turned slowly, neck tingling. The window perfectly framed the remains of the pig pen in its center, which was nothing but a pile of charred wood and discarded life.  

Standing still, staring at the pile, was a skinny silhouette, outlined with unwinding gauze. Liu’s gaze was only broken when it whipped its head to stare right back.  

Frightened, Liu ducked out of sight, heart in his throat as he rushed down the stairs.  

It was cold out, his brother must be delirious. Must be having some kind of night terror, or must be lost.  

Upon opening the front door, Liu found the darkness of night absent. Golden, hot sun beamed down from above, glittering and sweltering, as if someone flipped a switch on the time of day.  Liu's chest felt tight, vision blotted out from the abrupt change of environment. His stomach flipped and nausea threatened to crawl up his throat. What the fuck was happening? Was this some kind of nightmare? 

When his vision returned, Liu caught no sight of his brother. His breath stuttered, taking in the sight of pure daylight, entire body shaking despite the heat. 

Liu fought his instincts and decided to check out the glowing pen that was practically a beacon beneath the rays of sunlight. He could feel a strange allure to it, as if he were drawn to the area, even when every hair on his body begged him to turn away.   

He felt the heavy weight of eyes burning into his back as he wandered further from the home, and he glanced back, sight trailing up to their bedroom window. He discovered the curtains had been drawn closed, a flicker of movement from inside catching his attention.  

He dashed back inside, the soles of his feet slipping in the warm mud, sweat trickling down his jaw. He staggered up the steps, leaving the glaring light of day and the alluring pig pen behind. 

“Jeff!” Liu called out, panicked, voice strangled.. What the fuck was going on? He shoved the door open, panting. 

All that greeted him was the body tucked into the bed, chest rising and falling softly to the sound of crickets. Moonlight casted upon the white sheets, bathing the room in silver light. 

After that, Liu’s sleep was on rapid decline. Often, he’d find himself crawling into bed, fighting the waking world, desperate for slumber, only to suddenly be met by daylight streaming in the window.  

It felt as if only moments had passed, as if he had slept without realizing. Liu didn’t feel as if he’d slept a wink. 

 However, more pressing matters smothered his attention. There were two figures he always found himself chasing; the absent body in the bed, and the figure roaming the halls maniacally.  

Sounds and scents haunted him, and at one point he frantically searched the halls for hours, convinced he heard the sound of a plump hog’s hooves clicking against the wooden floor. He wasn’t even quite sure what he’d do with the pig if he found it.  

Having caught himself nearly mixing his mothers and Jeff’s medication one night, Liu opted to go to bed early, hoping to sleep off whatever was afflicting him.  

He rationalized that this feverish nightmare could be insomnia or an affliction, potentially a combination of the two.  

Liu decided he would ignore the night’s assault on his senses unless he was sure it was necessary to address. He fed the pain medication to Jeff and then promptly collapsed into his own bed, wrinkling the sheets with a tight grip, “Goodnight, Jeff.” His voice was weary, but he willed himself to lay his head down and close his eyes.  

Unbearable pressure on his chest. Suffocating weight grappling his lungs with an iron fist, strangling him. He woke with a start, vision a blur as he attempted to shove the assailant off of him.  

He struggled to make sense of what was happening, panicked.  

A figure towered above him, dark shadows cast along its features. Loose bandages hung haphazardly by Liu's face, brushing his cheek, exposing only a mouth. 

 Sleep and panicked confusion still holding him in its grip, Liu croaked out, “Jeff?”  

A sharp pain twisted in the center of his chest, radiating in throbbing waves of heat and static.Eyes widening, Liu’s gaze left his brother, catching the glint of silver bathed in the moonlight.  

He glanced down, chest heaving, the seams of the gash vibrating. Sticky crimson coated his torso, spreading, dark and rapid. 

Was he bleeding? Was he dying? Jeff, did Jeff do this—no, surely not his brother?  

The figure above him cracked open its mouth and smiled madly, his brother’s voice fanning across his face, echoing in the empty walls of the bedroom. It let out a long, moaning hush, shushing the figure beneath it. 

“Go to sleep...” 

Liu woke with a start, gasping for air as he sat upright, clutching his chest, pupils dilated like a wild animal. He whipped his head around, disoriented. He wasn’t in his bed, instead in his father's recliner. He couldn’t recall moving downstairs, but at this point, he didn’t care to know. 

Liu felt...good. Really good. Despite the anxious beating of his heart he felt awake for the first time in a long time. 

He settled into the recliner, his racing heart calming, relief like a wave in the depths of his bones. It must have been a nightmare, he concluded, considering the lack of blood and his seemingly unharmed body.  

With a spring in his step, Liu walked to the bathroom, intending to feel alive again. He splashed cold water on his face to wake his skin, feeling it tingle upon contact.  

He leaned down to repeat the motion, suddenly hissing in pain and grasping the counter for balance. Sharp pain radiated from his abdomen.  

Gritting his teeth, Liu lifted his shirt, jaw slack when his eyes landed on a large slash along his torso, stretching from under his left nipple down to his right hip in a pink, fresh cut.  

It wasn’t bleeding, oddly enough, and looked cleanly patched up. 

“The fuck?” Liu muttered, running a finger lightly over the wound, sucking in a sharp breath between his teeth at the sting. He racked his brain at the sight, returning to the nightmare from before.  

Surely, his brother hadn’t attacked him? He could barely stand, let alone wield a knife and hold him down. 

Liu was standing outside the duo’s bedroom door. Jeff would need his medication soon enough. Something in Liu’s head was telling him not to. Telling him to turn away, stirring a deep feeling of primal instinct in his gut. Was that body behind the door his brother? Was that catatonic corpse, so unresponsive, really Jeff?  

Those nightmares and allusions of the figure often felt more real than what was objectively the reality.  

Was it so mad to think his brother was capable of such harm?  

Jeff, who had been consumed by the fire and had smiled, smiled right at Liu.  

Jeff, who killed the piglets he coveted and took glee in fathers' self-destruction.  

Was it presumptuous of him to assume his brother–surely not in his right mind–was incapable of turning his anger on his brother?  

Liu was reminded of all their childish squabbles in this home, the busted lips and blackened eyes. None of that could be seen in the corpse lying on that bed. He had to be sure, though, and so he opened the door with a deafening creak. 

The room was shrouded in darkness and the body lay placid, barely breathing on the wireframe bed.  

The world shifted as he stepped forward, “You don’t talk anymore.” He accused. “You don’t even look at me when I change the dressings.”  

Fitfully, the figure twitched at the words. Liu scoffed, scornfully, “How can you be my brother?”  

He pressed further and gripped the bandaged face with none of the gentleness he had subjected it to prior.  

The bandages moved, pushing the flesh beneath which cringed upon contact. Liu’s fingers found the corner of the figure’s mouth and pulled—forcing the mouth into an open lipped smile, stomach turning with revulsion.  

The body fought the assault, soft breath turning into pained whimpers, trying to shift its head from the hold. Liu dropped his hand back to his side, leaving the body alone for now. “Yeah,” he realised, “You are definitely not my brother.”  

He could see clearly, could see the fingers on his hands and the shoes on his feet. Liu’s eyes did not lie, he saw his brother die in that fire and whoever that was couldn’t be him.  

It smelt like death, whatever it was, with rotten soiled flesh leaking fluids into the mattress. He saw that open cavernous nose, a nose that could only be the product of decay. No one could survive what his brother went through. No one.  

This thing was within his brother's corpse, wearing Jeff’s skull and forcing Liu to suffer more. To tend hand and foot to a sibling who should be buried. His brother’s body couldn’t rest, was kept perpetually suffering and without the capability to end it himself. For why? What purpose? Liu gingerly touched his shirt over that laceration on his chest.  

Liu would allow this exploitation no longer.  

He left the room, pushing the door open, but he was met with resistance on the other end. Confused, he tried again, this time the resistance giving way to the sight of his mother on the other side.  

Her face was colourless, lips parted slightly. She lifted her hands up to cup her son's face, stroking lightly. Her appearance was offensive, with hair matted into a thick mass and a nightdress stained with urine, blood, and saliva.  

She smelt like she looked, rancid, as if she hadn't washed in months, and the hands that stroked Liu’s face felt grainy.  

She whimpered as she spoke, teeth coated in plaque, rotted breath wafting over his face,“You’re a good brother.” That was all the reassurance he needed. His heart swelled with her approval; his mother had finally seen him. 

Liu lifted his hands to clasp her wrists and led the woman down the hall back to her room, weary. He could barely comprehend the disarray of the master bedroom. A hoarder's hull now, it smelt like a septic tank and had incoherent sprawling's littered on the walls. 

He had nothing to say to this, knowing the woman was beyond reason, and having more urgent matters to attend simply made it hard to care. He simply lay his mother down and placed a tender kiss on her forehead. She closed her sunken eyes, the sharpness of her cheekbones unnatural and jagged, and she smiled softly. 

For a moment, that youthful, maternal glow returned to her features and then she was gone. Liu's breath caught in his throat. 

Liu shut the door behind him, glancing at Mr. Woods, who sat in his recliner that faced the window next to the front door. His reflection was wavey and indiscernible, but he was undeniably awake—bottles littered the wooden floor around him. Liu ignored the man, heading for the tool storage by the garage entry door.  

He could feel the peripheral gaze of his father, continuing to pretend it away. His hands gripped the rusted handle of the shovel, feeling the weight of it, deep green paint chipping off the handle. Liu jiggled the door handle, which had gone stiff from the bitter cold outside. 

“And what are you doing, boy?” Mr. Woods spoke, not moving his head from its locked position, bloodshot eyes trained ahead.  

Liu continued to pull at the handle, “What are you planning now?” Mr. Woods’ voice was croaky and raw, yet still held its stern an unwavering command over his son.  

Liu paused for only a moment, a residual habit formed from fear of his authority, and then he began yanking on the handle roughly. The elder man in the recliner began to laugh, a deep rumbling sound that came from his stomach, guttural.  

He rose from his chair, revealing a cigarette on his lips that glimmered in the smoke. In his right hand a half empty bottle and in his left a lighter, his thumb grazing the switch threateningly.  

Liu felt sweat bead on his brow, and he began slamming his shoulder into the door in a frantic attempt to dislodge it.  

Mr. Woods began to ramble, “What are you, boy? So fearful of the now, you haven’t noticed it’s all gone to guts already! We’re all dead, all dead!” He laughed again, uncontrolled, manic, “What do you fear? It’s all happened already, boy! And you...did...nothing!”  

Click. Click-click. 

 The flame flickered from the lighter, and Mr. Woods grinned as he poured the bottle down his shirt. Horrified, Liu watched in stunned silence as his father self-immolated, catching the hem of his shirt with the flame. 

Engulfed by sputtering fire, he collapsed back into the recliner, igniting the remainder of the fluid along the ground and spreading the flame.  

He slathered his skin as he burned, laughing choked and wild and raw. His flesh sloughed off from his abrasive kneading, revealing the layers of raw skin, muscle, and viscera beneath. He gargled and screamed in agony, writhing in the burning recliner, succumbing to the flames of his own creation. 

Liu screamed, the smell of burning flesh clogging his nose and stinging his eyes. Gasping for air, he grabbed the shovel, wedging the metal in between the door and the wall. He heaved, cracking it open, slamming his shoulder into the heel of the shovel. The door finally gave way with a wicked force, shuddering on its hinges. 

Liu fell through the door in his desperate scramble to escape, gagging on the taste of his fathers flesh. He landed on a strange, lumpy heap, cold wetness seeping into his clothes.  

He recoiled from the feeling, eyes falling onto the body of a Great Pyrenees underneath him, head blown open and smeared against the porch from the door's force. 

Liu staggered to his feet, retching and covered in viscera, clutching the shovel like a shield. He ran. He ran far from the house.  

He only looked back once. 

The dog's head was a crimson smudge on the porch, orange light flickering from the open door and glistening the gore beneath it.  

The surrounding forest was like a siren, luring him deeper and deeper, singing to him, a lullaby and a promise.  

Blanketed in the darkness of the thick trees, light struggled to penetrate, time ceasing to exist. Liu fell upon a patch of bare earth, a patch of earth seemingly untouched by nature and human life alike and he knew it must be here.  

He knew it in the depths of his stirring soul. 

He began to dig. And dig. And dig. A large hole slowly broke through the untouched earth, wider and wider with every desperate shovel.  

Night and day passively turned into each other in what felt like an endless tango. A loveless entanglement that Liu felt, a grueling dedication to his atonement.  

This was his final reprieve and the only way out now.  

Stepping back and dropping the shovel to the soil, Liu gazed down at the pit before him. Deep, open and welcoming, an earthy grave revealed itself to him.  

It was perfect, the most perfect thing he’d ever done. It might as well have been the only thing he had ever done, the only accomplishment of his life. 

Liu followed the scent of flesh back into the home, passing the charred corpse which lay in the recliner, bottle in hand, facing the window. 

He trudged up the stairs, arms shaking with exertion, and opened his bedroom door, discovering it was empty. Void. 

Panicked, he gripped the filthy shovel in hand, knuckles white. A distant cry. He paused, listening intently. The sound repeated. 

It sounded like his mother.  

He followed the noise, softly stepping along the wooden floor to minimize the creaking it produced, cautious of what waited ahead, wielding his shovel like a weapon. 

As he drew closer, the sniveling transformed into rampant wailing, punctuated by fits of laughter. The sound was uncontrolled and painful, as if forced upon its inhabitant. The high pitched peals of laughter, so reminiscent of his mothers, then deepened into something guttural and gravelly, morphing and twisting. 

No longer did Liu hear his mother. In her place, he heard his father.  

Yet it was wrong, manipulated and bastardized as it echoed down the hall.  

Then it was him, his own voice echoing back at him in a foul mockery.  

He wanted to stop, to run away and never come back, urgency burning in his chest and begging him to run for his fucking life,but he found he just couldn’t.  

This was his monster, a monster that was the culmination of every time he turned away, and it held his brother with ferocity, gnashing its teeth and howling.  

For as long as it lived, they’d never be free.  

Closer now, the upstairs bathroom door creaked on its hinges, open. The cold, clinical light inside illuminated the dark hall. Liu inched forward, breath coming in short gasps.  

 A dark shape stood under the fluorescent light, bandages forgotten on the ground in a dirty, stained pile. Liu looked at its reflection in the mirror, no discernable features among the blood and bile on its visage. Blood gradually formed a puddle of crimson at the disfigured feet, partially dried and cracking.  

Liu couldn’t move, frozen, feet planted beneath him and numb. Yet, he couldn't look away.  

Sensing his presence, it turned around, revealing its grotesque form, drooling. In its hand was Randy’s discarded knife, soaked in crimson, fatty liquid.  

It stood tall and persistent beneath the flesh of its broken body, unfazed by the corpse it wore. The mouth, the maw. As it spoke, blood and mucus projected outward, splattering the tile and mirror. 

“Et lingua ignis est universitas iniquitatis,” It began, jaw swinging uncontrollably as it spoke, “lingua constituitur in membris nostris quae maculat totum...” Trailing off as it spoke, choking on its own blood. The sound of it was diseased, grinding against his psyche, like shredding flesh and sinew with bare hands. 

Its mouth was cut open on one side, skin floppy and jagged, exposing teeth and a lolling tongue that struggled to remain in its mandibles.  

Liu pleaded, nausea rolling through his stomach, his heart stuttering in his chest fiercely. He begged for the figure to halt, to stop and release his brother. Never before had he laid eyes on something so foul.   

Yet it continued, raising the blade to its left cheek, maintaining Liu’s attention as it began sawing the sharp edge back and forth with vigor.  

Through the blood it sputtered out, gargling, “Corpus et inflammat rotam nativitatis nostrae inflammata a gehenna!”  

Its voice was shrill as it sawed repeatedly, slurred speech slowly erasing any remnants of its former self.  

Liu pressed his hands to his ears, face scrunching up, pleads drying up on his lips as the words gave way to pain. Pure, unadulterated agony. Like electricity boiling him alive. He choked on a gasp and tried for his voice. 

“Shut up!” He cried, tears mixing with snot and saliva down his face, “Leave him! Leave him and let me bury my brother! Let me put him to rest!”  

The body kept repeating the words over and over, degenerating into incompressible garble as it struggled to enunciate through the thick liquid.  The body threw its head back, laughing to the sky, and then it buckled over to vomit onto the tile floor, a vile mixture of blood and mucus.  

Liu took advantage of the moment, struggling as he forced himself off his knees. He threw himself against the figure, crashing into the wall, crumpling.   

He heard a blunt thud and they both tumbled forward. The figure, lethargic, slid down the wall, still gripping the blade in hand, swinging blindly.  

Liu wasted no time, grabbing the figure by its remaining hair and using his years of experience hauling dead weight to drag the figure down the stairs. It thumped against each step, leaving a blood trail, eyes dull and previous thrashing ceased.  

Liu dragged the monster deep into the forest, over roots and under jutting branches, where its open grave beckoned him to finish this.  

Into the hole, the body crumbled onto itself,  lifeless eyes staring into nothing.  

Liu got to work shoveling the soil into the grave, and as he did so the body released wheezy, taunting laughs. This only spurred him on, who aimed the dirt at its head, hoping to snuff it out.  

However, even fully covered, the dirt mound misshapen and hasty, the laughter still penetrated through the earth. Transforming it into a rumbling rattle deep within its chest. He shoveled and shoveled until nothing but dirt remained. 

Unmoving and destined to rot, Liu collapsed to his knees over the earth.  

He wailed, cries clawing their way out of his throat. He continued until his throat could no longer, digging his hands into the earth and gripping the soil as if he could hold his brother one more time.  

The laughter beneath died down and silence fell over the forest; no whistle of the leaves in wind, no chirping of birds, no chirping of crickets.  

Life ceased; a flame starved of oxygen, died out unnoticed. 

Days had passed before anyone noticed what had happened. Dejected and isolated, the Woods’ family were far forgotten in the local zeitgeist.  

It took Jane Goelet working up the courage to confide in her mother for the family to be confronted. With the word of Jeff’s state—incapacitated by circumstance—circulating around town, Jane mustered the ability to speak.  

She had gone to Mrs. Goelet and floundered over her words as she recounted her meeting with Jeff. Reasonably horrified and seeking answers, Jane’s mother reported the incident and sent police right to the front door.  

Unprepared for what they would come across, the two officers had knocked to no response. It was only when the rookie, who curiously peered through the window, witnessing the remnants inside did they call for backup.  

The search revealed the fate of the family.  

Mr. Woods sat in a charred and derelict recliner, body burnt beyond recognition to the point that dental work was required to confirm his identity.  

Mrs. Woods was discovered upstairs in a room that reeked with the pungent odor of death. Her body was bloated, the cause of death undetermined due to the multitude of injuries. A combination of blunt force trauma and multiple stab wounds, varying in depth and originating from multiple weapons.  

Liu was eventually discovered wandering the forest, holding one of the weapons—a shovel—tightly to his chest. The cause of the blunt force trauma was taken by officers, and Liu himself was inconsolable. Delusional, dehydrated, he was taken in, bursting into tears sporadically for indistinct reasons.  

He was sedated, transferred for medical attention and held in a private room for questioning. The only person who couldn’t be recovered was Jeff, whose body seemingly disappeared without a trace.  

Several weeks were spent searching the forest with no sign of the boy. He was presumed dead, and the investigation promptly closed.  

Liu faced court for the deaths of the Woods’ family, but due to lack of evidence he was only charged for the death of Mrs. Woods. With reason of insanity, he was sentenced to seven years, on condition of attending extensive psychological treatment and rehabilitation programs.  

Rumors carried by whispers throughout the town, unanswered questions birthed tales wild and unbelievable. Jane herself was left haunted, nights filled with dreams of burnt figures and piglets.  

Her mind would wander into the unknown months within the Woods’ home, weaving fables of unimaginable suffering.  

The few details she could handle her mother recounting did little to quell her obsession. 

Inevitably, the only person that knew Jeff’s fate was gone from the world, as if he never existed at all. Dead or alive, Jeff Woods was no longer.  

Epilogue 

Randy's first stop was the pub.  

Maybe not the brightest choice, but it was something he felt nipping at his heels. He was unsure if it was the idea of drowning his sorrows or if it was the occupant who promised to meet with him.  

Either way, he walked hastily across town, stern to ignore the burning looks from those whom he passed. The town this time of year felt desolate, snow and ice coating the ground in a relentless hold. Salt sprinkled the roads and sidewalk, glittering beneath the moon.   

Randy’s hands were shoved deep in his pockets, ears and nose pink from the cold air. The pub they agreed on was at the end of town, a hot spot for the town drunks and floozy women.  

He strolled through the door, cupping his hands over his mouth and breathing out hot air. He rubbed the cold from his fingers while looking around, until his eyes fell on brown hair.  

Troy had his back to the door, fingers gripping a short glass, ice swimming around dark liquor. He hadn’t noticed Randy walking in the door and was watching the bartender—a petite woman with pink stripes in her hair—making cocktails. 

If it were some years earlier, Randy may have tried his hands at provoking the pretty girl, but now he felt unsure.  

Before, he was untouchable, but now it felt like every move was subject to voyeurs' treatment. He was unsure if the few other inhabitants were actually stealing glances at him, or if it was a product of his newfound paranoia.  

He took seat on the open stool next to Troy, tapping the counter twice to beckon the lone woman behind it. The larger boy's attention was grabbed simultaneously, and he was looked up from his glass.  

Meeting Randy’s gaze, he nodded, “Hey-” the greeting died in his throat, eyes widening for a moment. Randy knew why and he threw him a tight smile. Diagonally, across his face, from brow to chin, was a large and ugly scar. It healed shabbily, unlike the dog bite, which had healed with minimal remnants thanks to his father. This was inflicted by design to be a visual eyesore.  

“Turns out,” Randy began, grabbing the fresh drink that was placed on the counter, “People in juvie don’t really like bullies.” he took a swig, feeling the burn down his throat that settled warmly in his stomach,welcomed in the cold air.  

It was true. When word got around about what he’d done, the others had dealt with him. In their vigilante justice, they wished for him to feel what Jeff’s newfound reality was. His time locked up was an isolating and uncomfortable experience.  

Troy nodded in understanding and held up two fingers toward the bartender. The two sat in silence for a while, a bittersweet awkwardness. Troy had managed to avoid consequence, confessing what they had done on a plea deal.  

Three drinks deep, Randy decided to break the tension, “If you wanted to just get fucked up like old times,” He chuckled, smile not meeting his eyes, “You could’ve just said so.”  

“Kieth’s dead.” The words were like a gut punch. Troy was staring intently at his empty glass. 

Randy swallowed dryly, “W-what?” He sat upright now, “I thought, I heard he was fine after...” 

“It wasn’t that.” Troy cut him off, looking at Randy now, “Someone killed him.”  

Randy shook his head. 

 Dead? That couldn’t be true, no way. 

But, undeniably, it was. Keith was dead, murdered in his sleep. Randy’s head fell into his hands, running fingers roughly through his hair. He tapped his glass, calling for a refill. 

“Do they...do they know who?” He couldn't finish the sentence, struggling to process reality.  

“No.” Troy said bluntly, downing the rest of his drink and nodding to Randy, “So watch your back.”  

The implication was overt, the scar on his face tingling as Troy left him, Walking out into the cold darkness of night.  

Drink after drink, Randy spent hours in that bar, until final drinks were called.  

“Sorry man,” The girl spoke while wiping down the counter, “gotta close up.” 

With slurred speech Randy retorted, “Wanna walk me home?” 

The girl threw him a disgusted look and pointed to the door, “Get out, Randy.”  

She spat, and he grumbled, defeated, putting his jacket on. The dark of night was suffocating, a fully sober man would struggle to navigate it, let alone inebriated as Randy was.  

For a moment, he thought he heard footsteps tailing him, but when he turned around, all he could see was an empty road.  

Paranoid anew, Randy picked up his step. He pulled out his phone and began calling, watching his surroundings. The call went straight to voicemail. 

“This is Troy, can’t answer ya’ right now. Leave a message, or don’t!” Randy shook his head and redialed, feet stumbling as he picked up the pace. Once more, it went straight to voicemail, and once more, Randy redialed.  

After the fifth turn to voicemail, he left a message, “If this is a joke, you’re still a weak cunt. Pick up! Seriously!”  

He feigned confidence, not wanting to reveal his fear into the dark, as if the façade would fool anything trailing after him.  

He was at his front door, struggling with his keys to unlock the door. He panicked when he couldn’t muster up the motor skills to undo the lock. The door opened anyway, Randy’s mom hearing the panic from inside and letting her son inside.  

Once inside, he ran to the bathroom, his mom yelling after him. Randy vomited into the toilet, a combination of alcohol and fear spurring him on.  

Images of Kieth flashing through his mind, his mom stood at the door with her arms crossed. In her nightgown, she dragged her son to bed, where he promptly passed out.  

Troy never called back or answered his phone in the morning. Despite asking around, no one could answer, or cared to answer, about his whereabouts.  

As Randy came to realise, most of the town sought to forget about those three. They had crossed some unspoken line in the cruelty, leading to complete societal excommunication.  

Wherever Troy was, that was no concern of the townsfolk.  

Randy reconciled all this to the bartender for multiple nights, and despite his previous transgressions, she let him ramble. As each day passed, he spent more time at the bar.  

One particular night, he had drowned himself to the point of immobility, unable to walk more than a couple feet to and from the bathroom. The bartender staunchly cut him off and all but threw him out the door. On the front steps he sat, occasionally leaning over to expel the contents of his stomach onto the ground.  

His head was thumping, and he clutched at it in pain. Randy’s vision was doubled, and he watched as two sets of feet came into his vision. The figure stood for a moment, silent. Randy struggled to focus.  

“C’mon Randy,” He heard a raspy, strained voice say above him, “Let's get you to bed.” 

The mystery figure hooked an arm under Randy, hoisting him to his feet. Alarm bells sounded in his mind but try as he might, he was subdued by the figure. The two walked off into the forest.  

Randy’s slurred protests failed as the two walked further away from civilization. It felt like an unbearable amount of time before they came to a halt. Randy, unable to see clearly, struggled to make sense of what was in front of him.  

Until he heard snorting.  

Eyes squinting, he stared into the dark pit below and muttered, “Pi-pigs?”  

With a rough push, Randy tumbled headfirst into the hole. His face planted into slurry and pig excrement, violating his senses, smothering him.  

He lifted his head, holding back what little was left in his stomach, and came face to face with a pig. It was chewing lazily, snorting curiously at the boy. Confused and disgusted, Randy focused on its pink snout, dizzy.  

Suddenly, it stopped chewing and spit something out into the mud.  

Randy eyed it, squinting. A tooth. 

Sobriety rushed like a cold tide through his body when someone dropped down into the hole behind him. 

He rolled over onto his back, gazing up. It hovered above him, tall and pale. Despite its disfigured, threatening face and white blood-stained hoodie casting dark shadows, the red head instantly knew who it was. Those eyes, icy and partially clouded now, were unmistakable.  

“Jeff?” Randy questioned, voice watery. 

Jeff looked at him, mouth cut into a wide smile that bared his teeth. He stepped forward and reflexively, Randy backed up, his back hitting the dirt wall of the pit. Randy whimpered as Jeff got closer, hopelessness settling in his soul. 

“Shhh,” He hushed Randy, slowly revealing the bloody knife from the pocket of his hoodie, “Just go to sleep.” 

END. 

if you're still here- thanks for reading <3

[hoseoksluna]

THE FUN DAY, pt. I. | kth ft. pjm

pairing: idol!military!boyfriend!taehyung x f. reader (ft. best friend!jimin)

genre: fluff, angst — the sad kind

word count: 4.8k

summary: you've prepared a fun day for your boyfriend's military vacation. thank god he's here, right?

pin: f. / playlist: fun / taglist: join / discord: join

warnings: suggestive but not described themes of sex and alcohol consumption.

note: i'm so EXCITED to bring you this fic that i can't wait until tomorrow to post this. everyone welcome TAEHYUNG and JIMIN to the hoseoksluna universe. i have to tell you a secret. taehyung was my first bias when i first became army. taehyungie was the first one to save me from the bunch—literally to resurrect me because in him i found all the things i used to love and fell out of. jazz, poetry, the aesthetics and arts. it is an honor to write about him and i think i will write another taehyung fic next week. if you have any ideas, drop them in my ask box and i will use them for inspiration. this fic is dedicated to my baby ruru @tkslovechild, my tatlim @jjk7k, and the beautiful anon that asked me for a tae fic while i was already working on this one. i love you all so much. enjoy this beautiful piece. <3 mwah.

𓂃 ౨ৎ .

I am much too alone in this world, yet not alone enough to truly consecrate the hour. I am much too small in this world, yet not small enough to be to you just object and thing, dark and smart. I want my free will and want it accompanying the path which leads to action; and want during times that beg questions, where something is up, to be among those in the know, or else be alone.

I want to mirror your image to its fullest perfection, never be blind or too old to uphold your weighty wavering reflection. I want to unfold. Nowhere I wish to stay crooked, bent; for there I would be dishonest, untrue. I want my conscience to be true before you; want to describe myself like a picture I observed for a long time, one close up, like a new word I learned and embraced, like the everday jug, like my mother's face, like a ship that carried me along through the deadliest storm.

𓂃 ౨ৎ . — I Am Much Too Alone in This World, Yet Not Alone by Rainer Maria Rilke

It was your love language, to dress up like your boyfriend. 

Dress pants, shirts and jackets. Linen, silk, leather. Pointed heels or oxford shoes. Grays, browns, beiges and whites. It was something that made you happy—and it was something that represented a vessel, made of unbreakable porcelain, for your love that you carried for Taehyung. 

He’s sitting in the corner of your bedroom, on a wooden stool he specifically placed at such a picturesque place. With the ivory curtains drifting along the nape of his neck, sheer enough to expose the small vase of tulips that stoop in a private longing for his touch. He fondles them often to preoccupy his mind when you take your usual long showers and he waits for the fashion shows you give him. He’s the one who says yes or no. These shoes, love. Look, they’re just like mine. And right at this moment, the wine-yellow petals are caught between his slender fingers when you come out and he doesn’t let go of them—because you’re not holding up the outfit for the day as you always are. 

For the fun day as you’ve called it. 

You’re dressed in it. Low-waisted gray dress pants with a little, tight, white shirt. Black stilettos, black shoulder purse. Your trench coat is waiting for you in the hall, hung up and lonely, but other than that you’re matching him fully. It feels as though you’re fading into him, becoming a singular being that has his DNA and his beauty, and when he beams up at you, boxy smile on full show, spine straight and tall on the stool, long fingers gripping its rim, Taehyung, with his gray suit and a white shirt, somehow validates that feeling. 

Somehow, in that peculiar Taehyung way of his. 

He extends his hands towards you, asking for your closeness. There’s a mist of murkiness that envelops him, with the saddened clouds beyond the window, standing in the place of the sun. It moves through you, this image of him reaching for you in this landscape, and you think he deserves to be painted like this. With black charcoal and a little bit of soft carmine to eternalize the blush of his cheeks—the only trace of color in the sketchbook. Your hands don’t know the art of drawing, but your heart does and while you take those necessary steps towards him, you feel the scratches of that dark pencil over that grainy flesh. 

His palms find your curves and you consider it unbelievable, the fact he’s still so big, despite the size of the stool and the height of your heels. No matter how much taller you grow, he’ll always be that tower that protects you from the blazing heat of the sun. 

He’s the epitome of autumn. No longer a boy, but a man, whose lungs are perfumed by apples, leaves, cinnamon, pumpkin spice and the slight iciness of the seasonal wind. Whose eyes witnessed the growth of your form since you were a little girl with two long braids. 

Childhood best friends turned to lovers, favored by the hanging, twinkling stars. 

You always saw him the most in autumn. Chasing you down during festivities that your mom couldn’t not be a part of, grabbing a hold of one of your braided pigtails with his already long fingers, then tickling you until you gave up. Ever so easy to catch because of the length of your hair. You knew, even as a little girl, that he was not just a part of your life, but your life itself. More than a companion, more than a friend. You dreamed about having his babies and that dream would come to life through your imagination whenever he would chase you down, years later, in the grand halls of the east wing of his grandiose family home, where nobody ever comes, just to steal a kiss or two. It was the moment you realized that you were no longer kids, even though you acted as such, but that you desired little legs to follow you in the fun of it all. 

And that kiss changed every autumn from that year on.

Stolen glances, the blush of cheeks, quivering fingers that no longer grabbed your braids. Not until many autumns later. You gave him your everything, every bit of your newly-bloomed femininity, your dream of having his babies and he folded it into the vinyls of his favorite jazz music that he would play every night whenever he needed inspiration or whenever he simply needed you. 

Newly. Not just yet as adults and no longer as kids. Somewhere in between. 

And then the duties of adulthood came. The natural process of drifting apart settled between your bodies and you no longer played in the stage between. Taehyung, the saxophone-playing jazz singer, moving foreign bodies into his personal, heart-sung rhythm. Not yours, never yours for a long time. You, working a day job that never paid enough, not for the dresses you yearned to wear at those clubs he would play at. 

But what you didn’t know was that drifting apart meant coming together eventually. 

He might have become your Turnip Head, silent and distant, but you were Sophie—and you found him. You found him while looking for something, or someone for the lack of better words, and he helped you. Over a cup of coffee he didn’t drink, at a jazz bar you always wanted to come to. Your date was a hit and miss and the guy never came, and your Turnip Head didn’t help you find your Howl. 

He helped you find himself. And from that moment on, you never drifted apart again. 

Who would’ve thought that seeking a relationship that did not resemble your dream nor your childhood would make you find him all over again. 

In autumn, too. 

Taehyung paid for your dresses, your female suits, paid for your drinks. Kissed you underneath those dimmed, brown lights before he went off to play songs that moved your body at last. Dancing alone to his songs was your dream come true until he set down his saxophone and joined you. Let his band mates play his favorite Etta James song as he took your hand and drifted upon the dance floor with you. Those who danced before this song sat down, let you have this opportunity for yourself, and Taehyung kissed you, after a long time, after many autumns had passed, right then and there. 

And both of you realized that you could never drift apart again. You could only drift together. 

You moved in together. He bought you tulips of every possible hue every week. Played you his new songs for you on the saxophone. Took you to art galleries. Took you sightseeing, sometimes alone with you, sometimes with Jimin joining you. Shared your dream about having babies with you and talked about it all the time. Tried it out, seized it many times, though the outcome both of you desired never came. Had a beautiful life with you until…

Until he thinned out into his Turnip Head form and skipped away to fulfill his country duties. 

But he’s here. Oh, he’s here. Buff and big, apples, cinnamon and pumpkin spice. Brown eyes that carry the memory of your growth, hands that clutch your hips and that hold the silky memory of your still long braids. Hands that edge around your slightly, barely puffy tummy and that don’t know that you are with a concoction of a small him and you, a divine magical realism, a dream that came true without his knowledge right after the last hours of his military vacation were up and he had to go back to serve the country. 

The reason behind this fun day. 

The day of his second vacation, the day you tell him. 

“You look just like me,” he breathes, the width of his smile never lessening, hands skipping over the space between your hips and your arms and grabbing your hands. It gets to you still, the way his eyes never look up at you, the way they never have, and you feel so sweetly small. Even more so when Taehyung stands to his feet and slides his suit jacket over your shoulders. You become even smaller, a fawn taken care of. A pregnant fawn. “And now you are me.” 

Oh, he doesn’t know just how much. Not yet. 

He sits back down and gently pushes you to take a step back. On wavering feet, like that freshly-born fawn, you waver on your feet, but Taehyung keeps you stable, leaning forward to make sure you’ve caught your balance. A wisp of his dark hair falls over his eye that he, at last, flicks up at you. And the sensation from it, it is nothing that you ever felt before. 

It is a step forward. 

It’s something that tells you: go ahead. 

You planned to tell him at the jazz bar where he kissed you for the first time as an adult and made you his. But now, now it feels more than right, amidst this strange newness that you don’t think you’ll ever experience again. 

You open your mouth, brace yourself, but Taehyung is faster. Ringing fills your ears, the atmosphere around you feels gooey—as if you’re walking through a limbo. 

“Jimin will meet us at the park.” 

Oh, yes. Walk in the park, a warm drink to go, then the jazz bar. Jimin is having his military break as well, about to sing in Taehyung’s honor, you already knew this, knew he would join you, but being in the presence of your boyfriend, the detail slipped out. 

The newness leaves. Taehyung straightens. Towers over you. The normalcy flattens over the chemistry between you and him, the atmosphere lessening to feathery lightness and when you move your arms to give back his jacket, your arms feel as though they’re not your own. 

Your smile falls. 

Jazz bar it is. 

“We should go,” you prompt, turning around, having all the balance in the world as you go fetch your purse and reapply your red lipstick. 

Taehyung watches you in the mirror, his boxy grin on eternal display, warming your heart. You think about how you can’t wait until his baby witnesses that smile for the first time—and wonder if God is molding, at this very hour, the same one upon their little face. It brings tears to your eyes, ones that you quickly blink away, and instead you focus on lining your lips with the tip of the lipstick with utmost precision. 

In your vast collection of lip liners, you don’t have a red one. Truth be told, you always feared this vibrant color. It represented a stigma you never liked—that only promiscuous women wear that color, but to you it was never that. 

It was a color that meant you lose your girlhood, your childhood upon wearing. 

And now, it is a color that announces the next era of your life: adulthood, but different, painted with motherly instincts that are of these vibrant hues. Womanhood. No longer fearful, but brave. 

Right. 

You want your baby to connect this color to you and know that you made it. You waited your whole life for their father and gave it to him in one of the autumns as a child. Without knowing, without realizing. 

That color is a legacy. 

As if he could hear your thoughts, Taehyung kisses the back of your head, halting your motions. Wraps his arms around you as he props his chin on the place he kissed—and right here, right now, you’re looking at a family portrait in the mirror. 

A living, breathing one. With lifting chests in tandem, growing smiles and a growing baby in your womb. 

Magical realism in full effect. 

And then Taehyung is off to fetch your trench coat, holding it up for your arms to slip inside its sleeves. Grabs your hand and revels in the autumn weather outside, boxy smile never faltering. Sings in the car on the way to the park, makes eye contact as he mouths the lyrics—kiss me once and kiss me twice, then kiss me once again, it’s been a long, long time—because he could never sing over that part. It’s too precious to his heart for him to do so. 

The wind accompanies you and grabs your other hand as you walk down the pathway lined with half-barren trees and a still pond. Taehyung hums the Bing Crosby song that seems to be playing on loop within his mind and it is the only greenery that spreads around through his husky voice. All else—the pond, the trees and the last of their leaves that dance around you, the shrubberies and the clouds up above—are smeared with sullen blues and grays, to which Taehyung is everlastingly immune. 

Jimin is standing by an antique coffee stand, dressed to the nines in an outfit he most definitely must be cold in. Black dress pants with a jacket that stuns you. A matching Hussar one, with golden braiding. A military piece of clothing from another time. You think it suits the fun day quite delightfully, but not as much as it suits him. The golden detail goes hand in hand with his golden hair and you think he needs his picture taken. 

“Jimin!” you call out, making his confused little face turn in your direction, and he swivels his body to face you altogether. He holds two cups of coffee in both of his hands, one for him and one for you. You melt at that and look up at Taehyung to see his boxy smile ever so frozen and beautiful, pointed at his best friend. 

When you reach him, he hugs you. His cold skin stings you and you quickly warm him up with rubbing motions against his back. Scrunch your brows in puzzlement when he doesn’t hug Taehyung nor even look at him. 

But all is swept away when Jimin exclaims in discomfort and takes a rapid sip of his boiling drink. 

“Jimin, where’s your coat?” you ask him in pity, watching him shake and moan in pain once he burns his tongue. He uses the cup to warm up both of his hands. 

“I didn’t think Paris would be so cold in October,” he explains in a hushed, livid tone, drawing the rim of the paper cup back to his lips as if he didn’t learn his lesson. Typical Jimin. “But this outfit is for Taehyung anyways, so I’ll survive.” 

He talks of him but he doesn’t look at him. Makes heart eyes at the misting coffee, instead. Like Taehyung isn’t here at all. 

Strange. 

You shake off the thought. 

“Go stand by the pond before you freeze. I want to take a picture of you,” you say, softly, pulling your phone out of your purse. Glancing up, you expect Jimin to be ready with his pose, but he’s looking at you as if you said the most outrageous thing in the world. Eyes wide, mouth downturned in horror. You laugh and place a hand on his arm. “Go, Jimin. This is a special day and special days ask for special pictures.” 

Jimin sighs and nods, despite the fact he doesn’t really look like he wants to do it. 

“Fine, but I’m keeping the coffee in my hand.” 

Your tender laughter prolongs. “Fair enough. Go pose with your little heat pack.” 

Gazing out at the pond, Taehyung is already standing there. With his brown coat over his gray suit, he coalesces with the autumnal scenery and you think he belongs there. That a statue should be made of him right where his feet are planted, for people to remember and appreciate his beauty. You snap a few pictures of him before Jimin makes his way towards the stone bannister and stops right in front of Taehyung, who towers over him. Jimin lifts his cup and smiles a little tight smile, the mist from his coffee eclipsing over him like a soft fog. Switching to portrait mode, Taehyung is gone by the time your screen clears out and shows Jimin by his lonesome self, setting his coffee cup down on the bannister and turning around for some dramatic, aesthetic shots. Taehyung laughs in your ear, catches your slipping purse and places it back on your shoulder, and what he says next gives your life a whole new meaning. 

“Jimin is cute, but he’s strong and sane enough to protect you while I’m gone.”

You pivot back, piercing your sight right through him, not believing those words were just flung out of him like that. Taehyung never mentioned you having a protector while being in the military and even the whole concept of it confuses you even deeper as Jimin is serving as well. He might not be in the special forces like your boyfriend is, but he’s serving nonetheless. The systems are the same, no matter the department. 

Before you can ask him what he meant by that, the sing-song tone of Jimin’s voice reaches you. He calls out your name with a bit of alarm. 

“What’s wrong?” 

You gaze back and meet his eyes in full motion—he’s already taking long steps towards you and grabbing your arm, taking your confusion to another level.  

“What happened?” he asks, his pupils thin dots that ripple through your skin with stiff, panicky electroshocks. You glance back at Taehyung to discover that he’s not standing behind you at all, but behind Jimin, clutching his shoulder. 

You blink. “Nothing.” 

Jimin lets go of your arm and inhales the autumnal air. The pond, suddenly, heaves. 

“Let’s go somewhere warm,” Jimin suggests and you agree with him with a nod of your head. Pinpricks of iciness kisses your fingertips, despite the fact you’re still holding your own cup of coffee that Jimin bought you. 

A strange feeling seizes you. 

The jazz bar is an embrace of snug heat that embraces your womb first before greeting the rest of your body. You can’t help but to touch your baby, say to her in your heart: this is your Daddy’s most favorite place in the whole wide world. And the feeling is so surreal that it washes away the strange sensation that clung to you so heavily. 

You’re the first customers to come. Jimin sighs in absolute relief and he’s standing in the middle of the dance floor, frozen in time, as he lets the warmth of the place defrost his bones. Your cup of coffee was long finished and discharged; Jimin’s drank his in long sips that took seconds to finish, too, and the whole ordeal was so funny to you that it’s given you a sense of lightness that you needed. 

Taehyung hasn’t spoken a word since you left your apartment. 

He sits at the bar stool like he sat in your shared bedroom. One leg propped on the footrest while the other is relaxed on the floor, one hand folded on the apex of his thigh, the other drumming on the bar while the band he doesn’t know is rehearsing their instruments. You take a seat right beside him and feel like the parents you’re about to become. Sophisticated, classical, sublime. 

The pretentious kind, but in a good way. 

That thought makes you smile softly until the bartender asks you if you’d like anything. You politely decline her, even though you’d love a glass of wine with the daddy to be beside you. You can’t drink, not for many months to come. You wait for her to ask Taehyung the same question, but she doesn’t even lift her eyes to his direction. She wipes down the wood of the bar and leaps away. 

Nobody fucking asks Taehyung anything. 

Amidst a hearty guitar strumming solo, Jimin notices the furrow of your brows, the downturned pout of your mouth that opens to ask Taehyung about the strangeness that keeps occurring today. But before you get the words out, Jimin calls out your name into the microphone, the vowels made sweet by the sound of his princely voice. He stands with the band behind his back, his Hussar jacket exquisitely fitting the dimmed background. He holds out his hand for you, a poignant glint perched on top of his irises, and he flattens his puffy, pink lips. 

“Don’t be sad. Tonight is for Taehyung and all sadness is prohibited,” he says with his feigned announcer articulations, the corners of his mouth rounding in a similar manner to yours, in sympathy. “We will have to kindly ask you to leave if you proceed in your sadness. Please, join me here.” 

You roll your eyes, but the smile gracing your features couldn’t be erased even with the force of the whole wide world. You stand to your feet and paddle your way to him, the heels of your stilettos clicking on the worn parquets. Jimin gives you a soft grin and places his microphone down, meeting you halfway on the dance floor and taking your hand. 

It is when he begins to sing, just for you, that you perceive that the instrumental song the guitarist played is one, which is contained in one of Taehyung’s vinyls. The ones he would play in the darkest of nights and sing the lyrics to your bare body. Tears prick your waterline when Jimin guides you into a gentle slow dance while maintaining the tones of the song with utmost perfection. 

And Taehyung is carried in every languid motion and in every vocal cord that is strained upon this hour in his honor. 

I’m in the mood for love, simply because you’re near me…

You gaze back at Taehyung, who sits still and smiles his boxy smile. Frozen and beautiful, but unbreathing. 

Still and unbreathing. 

Frozen. 

You halt your movements. 

Jimin stops the dance, ends the song with a deep hum that pulses through you along with the notion that something isn’t right, but very, very wrong. 

“I wish Taehyung were here,” Jimin says with a deep sigh, holding both of your hands, and an uncanny, perplexing feeling constricts your throat. 

Your breath shivers, vision blurry. “But he is here.” 

Jimin lets go of your hands and you lament his touch. You need to be touched because you feel yourself shrinking into a fawn most vulnerable that doesn’t know what’s real anymore. A fawn just born, pathetically ignorant of the world and of her loved ones.

“I know, but I wish he were here for real.” 

A cold sweat drips down your spine, paralyzing you. Your constricted throat dries up like a well and you can’t swallow. You can’t think, you can’t blink—your lungs can’t lift to inhale any air and they mirror Taehyung’s still ones, unbreathing. 

It is a surprise to you, the question that flows out of you. 

“Jimin, who is sitting at the bar?” 

A wrinkle forms between his brows as he sweeps his gaze over all those bar stools and doesn’t linger at the occupied space that you know is there. A perturbing energy thuds in his eyes once he returns them to yours, and that alarming potency in him rises once again. 

“Who do you see there?” he asks, carefully, leaving his mouth parted as he anticipates your answer. 

You peer back behind you and don’t find any bar stools occupied. Not single one. 

No Taehyung, smiling his boxy smile. 

No Taehyung behind Jimin. 

No Taehyung behind you. 

A sob rumbles out of you in unison with your realization that you were, indeed, very wrong. You catch your sob, covering your mouth with your fingers as your tears spurt down onto your cheeks. 

And then the memories arrive, the reality.

But Jimin ceases their flow with the warmth of his even more careful question. 

“Did you see him at the park, too?” 

You can only nod, but you can’t look at him. You stare at nothing in particular and it seems that what Jimin has ceased, he allows to stream through the pond of your thoughts, accompanied by his vocalized truth. 

“Taehyung isn’t here. He should’ve been here with us, but he had to go to North Korea. There was a conflict, remember? You know this.” 

Taehyung’s apologetic text message appears before your eyes. The letter that came first before his phone call, where he explained to you that he can’t have his vacation and visit you because he has to go and save his country. The real, known reason between the pair of you and Jimin behind this fun day. To honor Taehyung for what he’s doing. The day you wanted to share, as well, that you were pregnant. 

The aloneness has gotten to you, helped by your blessed state. Confused your mind to the point that you imagined him here when he’s not here at all. 

Jimin calls your name and you glance at him. Perhaps he can see the truth dawning on you by the way pity twists his features. He caresses your arm and leaves his hand there, his heat locking in the realization. 

“What has happened to you?” 

Another onrush of tears clouds your vision. Your spine bends. And you can’t. 

You can’t not tell him. You can’t keep it in. 

“I’m pregnant.” 

Jimin’s eyes widen and it merely takes him a second to envelop you in his embrace. He coos your name, rubs your back, a whimper resonates in his chest against yours as he holds back his tears. The music falls into nothingness—and nothing is said for a time that appears to be as long as the season of autumn. 

And then, somehow, you’re outside of the jazz club, sitting on Jimin’s Hussar jacket that he put down on the cold ground for you beside him. And the silence continues until it doesn’t. 

“Does he know?” he asks, and you feel his irises gliding across the side of your face that you cannot turn. 

It’s you who’s frozen this time. 

Still and unbreathing. 

With no smiling Taehyung at your hip. 

“I wanted to tell him tonight,” you say, quietly, with your hands helplessly in your lap. “On the day of his vacation that he looked forward to.” 

Jimin sighs, the sound full of that terrible pity. “How far along are you?” 

It’s a question that brings life to your numb hands and you take them to your belly. 

“Three months.” 

A beat of silence. 

You fondle your growing baby. Jimin seems to be watching you, considering his following words, but you fear to move your eyes. Lift them in expectation to see Taehyung only to meet the half-barren trees and the leaves on the ground that have absurdly regained their vivid colors. 

Lift them to look at Jimin and meet the outcome of your autumn-long aloneness. 

“He’ll be back in a month and I’ll talk to the Sergeant and offer my own vacation. I’ll give it up so you can see him and tell him.” 

A sob lodges itself in your throat and you tilt to the side, leaning your head on Jimin’s shoulder. He, in response, leans his against yours. 

“I don’t think your Sergeant will even hear you out,” you say, humorlessly, your personal pain still prickling the flesh of your heart. 

But then Taehyung’s words wash over you. 

Jimin is cute, but he’s strong and sane enough to protect you while I’m gone.

Jimin, Taehyung’s best friend, who’s been there for him through thick and thin, long before you came into the picture. Jimin, who stuck by your side when sightseeing, and took your pictures. Who devoured dinners with you and drank a whole bottle of liquor with you when Taehyung abstained. 

Jimin, your best friend, too. 

“Will you be here for me while he’s gone?” you ask, the sob in your throat enlarging, preventing you from speaking, but you push through. “So I won't get delusional again?” 

Jimin takes your hand in his, squeezing it firmly in your lap, his thumb brushing over your little, half-swollen belly. 

“It’s the least I can do. Let’s get you home.” 

And he does. 

He calls a cab. Walks with you up the stairs, lingers at the door, watches you take off your heels—watches the comprehension of this day being anything but fun take form on your face and posture, and he hugs you. Reassures you that he will be here the whole week until his vacation is over, and even long after that. 

And you nod. Thank him. Turn your head away when he clicks the door shut behind him. Walk over to the window and stifle your tears when you see him head over to the liquor store in front of your apartment and leave with a bottle of spirits hanging from his fingertips. 

And the tears rush out, despite your efforts, when your gaze cascades down onto the windowsill and onto the vase, where white wine-doused tulips stooped in yearning for Taehyung’s touch a few hours ago. 

They aren’t stooping. They’re flaccid, dead and withered. Like the fun day you prepared.

Because Taehyung hasn’t bought any newly blooming tulips in a long while. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @jjk7k , @tkslovechild , @euphoricmyth , @cinmmongirl , @ririkookiemonster , @perfectiondazesworld , @https-mei , @bangtansonyeondanue , @jungkoock , @cinmmongirl , @hoseokkie-caeks , @kam9404 , @fr0ggieth1nk , @parkinglot-nights

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved

BACK to masterlist | read part two

[slayfk]

does having my horse descriptions stolen by a big horse twitter account mean i’ve made it big …

sigh … i got them to take these two down at least, but i had to call each one out individually to them for them to do it and they said it was just an accident that they were extremely similar and that a conscious effort had been made to NOT make them similar… i feel bad making like an actual “callout” since they took the posts down and said they felt bad but when i contacted them about it they only took one post down until i specifically asked them about another so they seemed to be trying to just get away with what they could...unsure

i'm not upset about the images because the purpose of the horseimagebarn (aside from funny descriptions) is to sort and archive horse images so people can find the exact kind of horse image they're looking for with ease...what bothers me (as i am not exactly "upset" as that's a bit intense, more just annoyed and disappointed) is the use of my descriptions

i surprisingly put a lot of effort into my posts so it sucks to see someone with one of the biggest horse image/meme accounts on twitter that i previously really enjoyed and looked up to all of a sudden start stealing my posts and even when they don’t, they use really similar tone and phrasing to mine which would be fine on its own but combined with the stealing it makes me feel very strange like someone is just trying to be me somewhere else and getting a lot more attention for it (attention is not why i do this, but it's just like an extra kick to the penis to see them have so much of it for my work!!)

p.s. to combat this i did make a horseimagebarn twitter just to repost screenshots of my posts as it feels wrong to be upset about plagiarism on a platform i am not on, and maybe if that account sees that i am active there they'll stop rewording my posts … so i’ll just be reposting my stuff there to hopefully prevent something like this from happening again :,) there won't be any new content on twitter as tumblr is my home and i care about it one horsillion times more so don't worry, this is literally just to repost my tumblr posts to discourage further plagiarism

not telling you to follow that because i really don't care about that and it's the same content as here but i wanted to inform you in case you see someone with the @ horseimagebarn on twitter that's me don't worry

anyway yeah... if you know which account i am talking about don't harass them because i do NOT want to be the one to start horse image community drama (dischorse as we have coined it), hopefully they'll go back to their original style of post and it'll all be okay!! shoutout to my wonderful friends in the horseblr discord for helping me check the account and figure out the plagiarized posts i love you fellows

[royalarchivist]

Ironmouse: Part of the reason why I love this server so much is because everybody's so nice. Everyone! Like, every single person is super nice! And it's like- it's like, genuine nice, it's not like fake niceness. [...] I've literally talked to almost everybody at least once like outside of the QSMP. We've talked on Discord, people regularly check in on me, we get in group chats and we play games like outside of the server... You don't really find that sort of connection all the time with people.

Ironmouse recently talked about her experience on QSMP, and how kind all the members are. I'm posting the entire conversation instead of cutting it up like I usually would because I really enjoyed hearing her thoughts on the server.

[ Subtitle Transcript ]

-

Ironmouse: Honestly, I'm sure he wouldn't mind if I did. He's so nice, he's so- he's always been super nice to me. He's been so nice, I– part of the reason why I- I love this server so much is because everybody's so nice. Everyone! Like, every single person is super nice! And it's like- it's like, genuine nice, it's not like fake niceness. You know how sometimes like– you always hear like, "Oh yeah, you know–" when–

Ironmouse: Whenever you like, join like a new thing, right? Whenever you like join like a new thing, you always worry, 'cuz you always think: "Oh, are the people gonna like me? Are they gonna be nice to me? What if- What if- you know, what if this, what if that?" But everybody like genuinely was nice when I first came by, and everybody has been so nice to me– not just in the game, but outside of the game, and–

Ironmouse: Something special about the QSMP is like... People wanna be your friend like outside of the game? Like, I've literally talked to ev– almost– almost everybody at least once like outside of the QSMP, like... We've talked on Discord, people like regularly check in on me, and like we get in group chats and like we- we play games like outside of the server, and it's just like... You don't really find that sort of connection all the time with people? You know what I mean? It's very– it's very not common when you go on like, a content creator-like server or stuff like that, you know? You'll get like one or two people that you get close to and stuff, but like... Everybody is SO nice, and everybody's been so nice to me, and I can't tell you how many people like, wished me– not just like wished me happy birthday, or like wished- said, "Oh, you know, hap- Merry Christmas!" dadadada, it's like genuinely like... Asked how I'm doing, and like talk to me, and like... Just like– I dunno, it's just like so- so- it's so wonderful. Ironmouse: Like, I get that with VShojo a lot, like– we're all like besties, and we all like talk all the time, but I feel like it's different, 'cuz like VShojo– we're VShojo, we're like– we're our own group, but this is like... You know... You don't expect this sorta thing when you get invited to like be on some- be a part of something, you know? And it's- and it's been so– it's been so wonderful and everybody's been so GENUINELY nice to me, and I- I appreciate everybody on the server so much, and they're just some of the nicest people that I've ever met ever, and it's just–

Ironmouse: It just warms my heart, and I'm just really– really like, thankful to be a part of something so great, and something so positive! Because like, everybody's so supportive! Like– the time when like, I didn't like– I- I- I had a moment where it's like I– do you guys remember in December when I- I was not around a lot? And like, I had to take breaks and all this stuff and it turns out it was like the concert stuff? They all like would message me regularly, like, we would all keep up with each other, and we would all talk. And I remember telling them about like, how much stress I was under, and like all the- all the pressures of the concert and stuff, and– and they were cheering, and- and- and they were just so... so kind to me, it was just so– so sweet, and- and you know, I was in a group chat with a- with a few people, and they were all just so excited and- and- just super nice, and- and very- very sweet, and it's just– and it's just very– I'm sorry if I'm rambling! It's just...

Ironmouse: I dunno! I- I- I just enjoy being here, and I enjoy hanging out with everybody, and... it's just nice to meet really good people. You don't really find that. You don't find that sort of thing all the time. Don't get me wrong– it's not like I haven't met a lot of good people, like– I just feel like this whole like, my whole like– Ever, like– My streaming journey, I've just been nothing but surprised at the goodness of people? Don't get me wrong– I've met assholes and sht like that, and I've met- I've encountered some people that are NOT so nice. I'll never like, talk about it or whatever because that's their thing, and I'm just gonna do my thing and I don't wanna like, you know, spread any type of stupid drama or whatever the fck, but like... I'm just always surprised about how– how incredibly nice people are, and how genuine a lot of people are, and it's... It- it's just nice, especially since like– You're used to coming from like, a certain background and a certain like, environment where it's like, you've met a lot of like fcked up mean people in your life, and you've just been around a lot of like fckery, you know? So when- when you're around stuff that's NOT fcked, it's just like, "Woah, this is crazy! Is this- is this how life is supposed to be?!" And it's just- it's just really... it's really- it's really nice. It's very nice.

Ironmouse: Yeah, it's very refreshing, that's why I- I enjoy hanging out on here, everybody's just so nice to me. And it's not just like being nice just to be on-stream, it's nice off-stream, on-stream, friendship on-stream, off-stream, it's- it's just- it's just so- it's- it's- it's wonderful. It's wonderful. And I just have to say like... man, I'm just really thankful that like... it's crazy that like I got invited to be on here and I'm just really thankful that, you know... Quackity like, reached out to me and he's- he's just been nothing but nice, everybody- everybody's just so kind. Everybody's so nice. This is something truly special.

[withleeknow]

thirteen percent.

pairing: minho x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff; mentions of drinking, cursing, hella unedited and tbh i kinda gave up toward the end but i wanted to post smth lmao word count: 1.2k note: inspired by the events of friday night in which i had 1.3 bottle of soju and promptly passed out while unmuted all night in my discord server lmfao

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation › masterlist › ko-fi

the first thing you do when you wake up is scowl.

at the sun. at the sky. at the cars and at the people going about their day on the street below. at soonie and doongie when you find them just peacefully existing in their respective corners of the room.

at minho who's looking at you from the doorway with an amused expression on his face.

"look who's finally up," he says, approaching the bed with a glass of water in his hands. "it's almost 1pm, heathen."

you groan, covering your face with your hands as you try to sink further into the mattress. "why are you so loud today?"

"this is my normal volume?"

"your normal volume is loud."

"hmm, could this be because last night you knocked back an entire bottle of soju and then some and therefore you have a raging headache right now?"

you blink, still delirious from the night before. it's obvious that the alcohol hasn't completely left your system and minho is right. there's a pounding in your head and you wish it would stop.

you ignore his sassy quip, trying to recall what happened. "how did i get home?"

it was supposed to be a cozy night in with your friends. you'd been looking forward to last night for weeks because all of you had been so busy with your respective lives, and a fun girl's night was desperately needed. to catch up, to gossip about your partners, to escape your tiresome realities for a few hours.

and of course, to unwind and drink. not to the point of being blackout drunk; just to de-stress a little.

"how do you think?" minho asks, holding out the water for you until you muster enough strength to sit up and take it from him. he watches as you greedily gulp down the liquid to satiate your dry throat, giving him back the empty glass when you're done and lying back down again. he sets the glass on your bedside table before he joins you under the covers. "boyfriend of the year went out in the middle of the night to drag your ass home."

"you took me home?"

"i just said boyfriend of the year, didn't i?"

despite his smartass attitude, minho still snakes an arm around your body to pull you close to him, until your head is lying on his chest while he strokes your hair gently.

"it was just soju. plum soju!" you try to justify your actions, throwing a leg over his and snuggling further into the warmth of his body. "only thirteen percent!"

minho scoffs. "that's how they get you. the fun flavors make you think that you're gonna be fine if you do just a couple more shots. next thing you know, you're sending your boyfriend gibberish messages at 2am."

to emphasize his point, minho shows you his phone, goes straight to the text thread you two share.

you mostly sent him nonsense, seemingly a lot of keyboard smashes and blurry drunken selfies of you and your friends. then came the last few messages.

you: oh naue why rom sponnign you: i wsntto go homrr you: mimo tskeeee me homeee

"oh." you purse your lips. "drunk me was a moment."

"no, she was a lot of moments actually. you stayed up for almost two hours after i brought you home."

"doing what?"

your boyfriend looks down at you, an unimpressed look on his face before he rolls his eyes and sighs, recanting the story of how you exhausted him just hours prior.

"stop squirming," minho said, trying to keep your head from lolling to the side as he wiped at your face with a cotton pad doused in micellar water.

but you kept giggling, kept trying to hold his cheeks so you could kiss him. "mimo, you're so pretty. my pretty, pr-" hiccup! "pretty mimo."

it took him thirty whole minutes just to take your makeup off, then another forty five to go through your skincare routine.

-

it was an entire struggle to get you out of your clothes and into your sleepwear because apparently, the feeling of him tugging your blouse over your head and sliding your jeans down your legs tickled that amorous part of your brain - your horndog side, if you will.

you instantly latched onto him, climbing on top of him to sit on his lap, attempting to trail kisses along his neck when all minho was trying to do was put your t-shirt on.

"not now," he scolded you lightly, pushing you away by your shoulders before he held your arms up just long enough to slip the shirt over your body.

"whyyy not?"

"mostly because you're about ten seconds away from passing out."

but that wasn't something that your intoxicated brain could comprehend. all you understood was that your boyfriend didn't want to have sex with you, that he was rejecting you.

you went quiet all of a sudden, your lips pouting, your eyes turning glassy before you practically sob, "you don't want me anymore."

minho could only sigh.

-

"what now?" he had finally managed to get your restless ass into bed, thinking you'd surely knock out within seconds of hitting the sheets. but when he returned to the bedroom five minutes later, having cleared away your clothes to be put in the washer in the morning, minho found you lying on your side, your eyes glued to your phone, your face illuminated by the blue light coming from the device. "why aren't you sleeping?"

you were going through your camera roll, watching your old videos like they were your favorite tv show. videos of you and him, videos of him and the cats, or just random videos of him that you took when you thought he wasn't paying attention.

it was cute how you were so immersed, how you kept giggling and making heart eyes at the version of minho captured on your phone. it made him smile, just standing there and watching you like that.

it was beyond endearing, but it was also fucking 4:18am.

minho snatched the device away from you and put it somewhere you couldn't reach before he settled into bed with you.

"i miss my mimo," you whined. "give me back my mimo."

he knew there was no use in telling you that you didn't need to miss him when he, the object of your affection himself, was lying next to you. instead, he just yanked you closer, tucking your face into the crook of his neck and holding you tightly so you couldn't move, hoping that it would eventually lull you to dreamland.

"your mimo is right here. now go to sleep, you menace."

"and not to mention you kept-"

"nope." you put a hand over minho's mouth so he would shut up. "i've heard enough."

he pushes your hand away. "i deserve compensation for what i had to go through last night."

"the satisfaction of taking care of your wonderful girlfriend wasn't enough for you?"

"no," he says. then, you both just stare at each another for a few minutes.

"fine," you relent. "i'll make it up to you with one hundred kisses."

"i want a cat tower."

permanent taglist: @onlyycb97wife @starsandrqindrops @borahae-reads @abbiestearsricochet @cutiespaghetti @anthropologykpopmultistan @moonlinos @mjnhoz @caitlyn98s @piercidh34rts  @stayceebs97 @linocz @yaorzu-blog @biribarabiribbaem @kayleefriedchicken

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 14.01.2024]

[sourellie]

streamer!ellie

been seein this everywhere n i wanna partake!! ( º﹃º ) the usual bad grammar. not proofread. scared as shit to post this ENJOY!!!

streamer!ellie who met you over a game of fortnite. bear with me i haven't played fortnite in years. she ended up playing teams with you, hearing you talk shit made her and her stream love you!!! you two played quite a few rounds that day...From Then On....god if i got any of that right

streamer!ellie meeting you for the first time was a whole ordeal. she streamed the whole thing??? sweating buckets. spewing nonsense to her chat. this girl was NERVOUS. "Chat. Chat. I'm Scared. Chat Please."

streamer!ellie i can't decide if she's always shown her face or if she Was faceless at one point. but let's just say for shits n giggles the first time she showed her face Was the meeting u stream. "Big Things Are Comin'...Gunna Make Money Moves."

streamer!ellie she was so damn nervous for the face reveal. it was so awkward on her part. someone asked her what she was wearing and said "u know just a calm luh fit."

streamer!ellie let me talk about this real quick. you n ellie started dating Way before chat ever found out. obviously they had hints. aka the entire meeting u stream. she revealed it on accident when she called u babe and the whole chat basically said SAY WHAT!!!! so she had to confess....come clean if u will...

streamer!ellie starts all of her streams with "Hello All."

streamer!ellie OKOK THIS IS JUST PROJECTION ON MY PART BUT this girl cannot let go of "i i i be poppin bottles" she thinks it's so funny to play it at random points in her streams

streamer!ellie as for the games she plays i think she just likes to play whatever her stream tells her to. but she rage quits a lot...so. anyways i think if she had to pick her favorites it'd probably be dbd or any of the resident evil games. maybe even silent hill. but with you she loves to play minecraft!!! n you two even have a server with all your friends!!! she loves to see you interacting with her chat it's so special to her T . T

streamer!ellie when she walks away from her stream, you like to play pranks on her with chat. one time you told chat to ask what was behind her when she came back. she screamed in fear when she seen 'What's that behind you?' "WHAT IS WHAT?! WHAT IS WHAT?!?" she didn't turn around that whole stream.

streamer!ellie when she does just chatting streams all she talks about is you. "well my girlfriend-" "yeah my girlfriend-". she just loves u she wants to mention u as much as she can!!!! the amount of edits chat has made of you two...ellie had a stream where all she did was go through her discord and watch edits.

streamer!ellie chat loves you possibly more than they love ellie. 9 times outta 10 if ur with her, ur gunna get ur picture taken. borderline ur fans. they add u in group chats n stuff n sometimes u pop in to say hey!! and they never let it go.

streamer!ellie when she released merch she had u model :((((

streamer!ellie when u stay with her and she ends up playing something, she has a little place just for you to lay!!! it's like one of them big bean bags. it's right by her set up n sometimes stream catches her jus lookin at u :333

her username is elwilli cuz it's funny anyways enjoy these pics that are streamer!ellie coded

maybe one day i'll write more. anyways. bye

[honeyshiddendesire]

Virgin! Doflamingo Headcanon

Pairing: YANDERE VIRGIN! Doflamingo x Female Reader

Warnings: YANDERE DOFFY! loss of virginity! Vaginal penetration! Fingering! Dirty talk/teasing! Pussy drunk Doffy! mating press! Oral sex (male and female receiving)! Public sex! Misuse of d.f. Powers! Doffy with a Praise kink (fight me on this lol!) 

*Author's Note: An idea that popped in my head while chatting with my friends on discord that I finallllyyy got around to posting lol*

*banner*

VirginDoffy! Who was so focused on murder and overtaking the whole world that he completely forgot about sex all together…well forgot is a strong word more like it just never interested him. Sex wasn’t something that was in the forefront of his brain, murder and destruction, power, things like that. 

VirginDoffy! Who enjoyed stringing women up and fingering them till his heart was content, using them more like puppets to hear their cries but finishing the job never interested him. Well not with the women in Dressrosa or other kingdoms yet. 

VirginDoffy! Who was sitting on his throne one day when it suddenly dawned on him that he’s never actually sunk his cock into a woman before. Usually getting bored rather quickly before he ever actually fucked them. That all changed when he saw you one day strolling along in the streets of Dressrosa. 

VirginDoffy! Who you can’t tell me wouldn’t be a total yandere following you around the city, not talking to you yet but silently observing your every move. Having a woman peg his interest in this way was new afterall so he’d literally become a stalker. You wouldn’t notice him at all but everyone else around you would. 

VirginDoffy! Who would pay attention to your everyday routine and how you always get a morning tea or coffee with your favorite muffin. Going early to pay your tab in full for the next month leaving you in total shock but he was left more stunned when you still went out of your way to leave a tip. WHICH! Made him go back and tip for the next month as well hoping you’d get the hint to save your money.

Paying attention to how you eyeballed all the fancy dress shops and shoe stores with longing in your eye before sighing and going to the bargain shop on the far side of town. 

VirginDoffy! Who literally follows you home and goes back when you’re not there to rummage through your things finding out who you are and what size you are instead of just holding a conversation with you. 

VirginDoffy! Who goes back to all the stores you stop at and buys you all the prettiest dresses and shoes that you tend to stare at from the window. Leaving them at your door with flowers and a card that tells you to meet him at one of the best restaurants in the entire kingdom.

You think it’s a secret admirer and smile as you pick up the beautiful dress and twirl in your room with excitement. Getting all dolled up wearing the gifts you head out toward the meeting spot with a big smile on your face, glossy lips dropping in shock when you finally step inside the extravagant place. “Right this way your table is waiting for you.” The host says with a bow as he takes your shawl and leads you to the far back with a reserved sign, close to the stage where a live orchestra was playing Sad Romance by Thao Nguyen Xanh. It was one of your favorites and you sat down in your seat totally mesmerized barely noticing when Doflamingo came up behind you. 

“Is it all to your liking?” He asks, catching you off guard with a little gasp that makes him smirks. “Oops~” Doflamingo chuckles as he circles the table taking his seat. Your glossy lips catch his attention as they’re parted slightly in shock at seeing none other than Doflamingo himself. “Y-yes it’s all amazing. I just…” 

Raising a brow as he takes a sip of his wine that the waiter quickly poured upon his arrival, “Wasn’t expecting me?” He questions and you simply nod, making him grin. “What can I say…you’ve caught the eye of a King.” 

VirginDoffy! Who asks you tons of questions while wining and dining you, noticing how nervous you are and tending to ramble because of it. A trait he found oddly endearing. Simply giving you little hums and nods of acknowledgment as you ate. 

VirginDoffy! Who asks you to dance as the violin and pianist continue to play. His hands and eyes roaming all over your body in the tight fitting dress, his actions making your breath hitch and body heat up. Doflamingo’s hands are already holding you with a possessive touch that makes you practically melt in his grasp, eyes staring in awe up at him. 

VirginDoffy! Who despite never having sex he can tell by the look in your eye that he has you completely trapped in his sinister web, one that you’ll never escape from once he’s had you. 

VirginDoffy! Who’s hands slowly trail down your back to your ass as he leans down to whisper in your ear, “Would you like to accompany a King back to his chambers?” The question makes you shiver as you whisper back a shaky ‘yes’. Quickly leading you out of the restaurant after that and into his limo where he wastes no time crashing his lips to yours. 

Your hands wrapping around him to scratch at his scalp, tongue swirling around his in a clumsy kiss. You thought it was all the wine but little did you know the true reason behind his bewildered state. Doflamingo was groaning into your mouth as he pulled you into his lap, the smell of the perfume he purchased you was loud in the close proximity and it made his head spin. The strong floral, sweet scent smelled so enchanting on your skin that he couldn’t help but groan as he trailed sloppy kisses down your neck making you whimper. 

“Um…sir…we’re here.” The driver nervously interrupts and gets a glare of Doflamingo and a loud ‘out’ that makes him scurry away leaving the both of you alone. “Ah~” You moaned out as you felt Doflamingo grind into your hips, feeling his rather huge bulge through both of your clothes. 

VirginDoffy! Who’s so enraptured by pleasure and your scent that you literally have to tap his shoulder to get his attention. “D-Doflamingo~ Can…can we go to your room?” You whine as he continues making your head spin with each kiss that travels lower towards the valley of your breast, his large hands gripping your ass. Hearing your request and seeing the look of lust on your face only has him grin as he kisses at your jaw. 

VirginDoffy! Who can’t help but warn you of what was to come. “You know once I have you in my room I can’t ensure that you’ll be leaving anytime soon.” His grin only grows as you tell him you understand, greedy lips finding your own at the sound of your equal eagerness. “Oh my poor dove~ you don’t even realize the cage that you’ve flown yourself into.”

VirginDoffy! Who leads your heaving form to his room, your hair and gloss already a mess just from an intense makeout session. 

VirginDoffy! Who once in his luxurious room wastes not even a second to literally rip your dress off you. Pushing you down on his large plush bed making you squeal in shock at how quickly he spreads your legs. Kissing up from your legs, long fingers running along the sparkly heels that adorned your feet as he spread your legs more into a vulnerable position. 

“Already soaking this pathetic lace you’re wearing.” Doflamingo chuckles against your thighs, nipping the skin before sucking marks into your plush thighs. Trailing up slowly before using one of his hands to push your panties to the side before diving in to take a long lick at your cunt. 

VirginDoffy! Who has zero skills at eating your cunt but wasn’t stupid and knew to listen to every little reaction that you made. Any hitch in your breath, moan or whimper you let out only fueled the large man’s ego to dive further into your cunt. Long tongue working wonders to fuck into your sopping wet hole, circling around making your back arch as he sloppily kisses your aching clit. “AH~ Dof~Holy shit!” You cry out barely able to moan out his name as he sucks on the sensitive bud harder. 

VirginDoffy! Who’s hands literally can’t keep still. Running up and down all over your body, squeezing and groping your tits to run down your waist to pinch and claw at your thighs before moving back up with hunger. His tongue never gets enough of your taste and only eats your pussy with more fire in his chest. Never understanding how he hasn’t done this before when you sounded so sweet in his strong grasp. 

VirginDoffy! Who was starstruck when he finally started to sink his long fingers deep in your dripping pussy, tongue never letting up on your clit even as you pulled at his blonde hair. “Do~ah~Dof-fuck~!” His name dragged into a curse from your lips that had him grin wickedly, tongue flicking your bundle of nerves to drive you insane.

 “Oh fuckfuckfuck I’m gonna cum~ Doffy shit! How are you so good at this?” Your moaned out question has him pulling back with a sinister laugh as he also wonders the same thing considering he’s never done this before. Doflamingo’s greedy eyes looking down to where your wet pussy is swallowing two long fingers of his, your hands gripping the sheets beside your head. Your legs were trembling, heels digging into the plush blankets as you thrashed around. Screams only turning to a loud shriek as he curled them into that spot that made you gush, his brow raising at the magnificent sight. 

VirginDoffy! Who can’t help but lean back down, licking you completely clean with a luscious moan at the taste of you. Pulling down his pants to hungrily crawl up your body kissing your skin up along the way making you breathe heavier. 

VirginDoffy! Who is way too big for his own good and once he's dipping his long cock inside you needs you to literally beg him to stop or he'll keep going. Drunk on the feel of you wrapping around him until your nails are drawing blood from scratching at his chest so hard. 

“Shitshitshit too much too~ fucking much! Dammit just wait!” You cry out not even aware of how much blood you drew from the man, eyes blurry from tears. His body shivering at the pleasure wrapped around his cock and the stinging pain of your nails. Doflamingo’s breath is coming out in huffs as he leans down to suck marks on your neck, his fingers clawing at the sheets for some type of self control to stay still but it only lasts so long. “I’m not a man with much patience.” He’ll tell you, making you whimper as you feel him grind into you. 

Sucker punching the air out of you as he rocks into you with unskilled hips, is cock so big it did all the work for him. Doflamingo went on pure instincts and pleasure, kissing your body and stringing your legs up to stay wide open for him. Long cock pounding into you until you scream out his name for the whole kingdom to hear.

VirginDoffy! Who immediately grows addicted when you cum around his cock, needing to feel it over and over again. Your pussy gushing around his cock as he pumps you over and over full of his seed. 

VirginDoffy! Who mentally wishes he traps you forever with his child so you never leave the man. Your slumped form lay on his bed alongside with him both breathing heavy as his mind raced with thoughts of what to do with you the next round when he has gathered the energy again. Now that he’s had you don’t think you’ll be able to run. Like a bird you’ll be forever caged to quench his ever growing lust.

“Don’t think you’ll be able to leave me now my dear. It seems I’ve grown quite obsessed.”

[jasperxkuromi]

Regressors that are (bodily) older, please interact!

Later 20s, 30s, maybe even older? I would love to hear from you and maybe even your stories if you don't mind sharing!

I want to meet more people like me and also show others that age regression doesn't just suddenly "stop" at a certain age

Some of us:

Didn't discover regressing/didn't understand their involuntary regression until they were older

Wasn't in a safe space mentally and/or physically to be able to regress the way we want to

Didnt "grow out" of regressing. I think a lot of people outside the community assume we will all grow out of wanting to regress at some point. Maybe some of us will, but some of us won't. Regressing can be a safe and healthy coping mechanism, no matter your bodily age!

And probably many other reasons I can't think of at the moment lol

I would love to get to talk to older regressors, or if there are any groups/discords, I would like to know those too :3

I'm gonna talk about my story a little under the cut, but I don't exactly recommend reading it if you are little right now! I am going to be talking about s3xualization of agere and children's media unfortunately.

I started age dreamer/involuntarily regressing when I was in high school without really knowing what it was. I was really into MLP FiM during its height popularity. I watched the show, collected and played with the toys, did coloring books, took my MLP blanket to school ever day. You get the idea.

I discovered regression here in Tumblr, but this was yeeeeaaars ago, like back when nsfw was still allowed. The line between ddlg and agere wasn't as solid as it is now. Or maybe it was just because I was a kid and couldn't understand better? Either way ... i ended up getting wrong ideas of what agere had to be and ended up scaring myself off. I also had adult roleplayers leaving really inappropriate comments on my posts that made me feel icky. I thought agere had to be s3xual and scared myself off.

We also unfortunately probably know the uhhh .. types of fan art that was popular of MLP. And it just ended up making me lose interest in the series. The stuff was everywhere and it was hard to avoid even if you were vigilant.

I never got a real chance to understand what healthy, voluntary regression was. I still was an age dreamer, but most times when I involuntarily regress it is out of extreme stress and it isn't fun or pretty.

I had a lot of bad things that happened to me last year and in turn I am having more health issues. Chronic conditions I already had getting worse, and new ones popping up. My mom (the one who birthed me) has been helping me a bit, but it has still been a lot of playing adult. Making phone calls back and forth, filling out paperwork, figuring out disability leave, paying bills, etc etc. I started age dreaming more and more often to cope with the stress. Like I randomly one day bought a DVD player and sets of Winnie the Pooh and Scooby Doo DVDs lmfao.

I also never stopped collecting stuffed animals and came back to collecting dolls again last year. It helps that I have friends IRL who I don't think are regressors, but still enjoy collecting with me. (my friends don't know yet, but I think they would be accepting if I told them, or they might already assume I regress tbh)

I have kinda had age regression on the back of my mind for several months, but was scared to look back into it. I was scared of going through the same thing I did back in high school. But also denying I am a regressor and that I still need to heal my childhood wounds was getting heavier and heavier on me. I am sooooo thankful I finally felt safe to begin exploring regression again ♥️😁

Side note: while I absolutely don't care if people do ddlg and similar stuff as a kink/fetish, I am thankful that the distinction between that and agere is more distinct now. It is important we protect minors and other vulnerable people from having the same sorts of things that happened to me (or worse) from happening to them.

[keklordkaotic]

So I remember back when I was super into Transformers, and my friend and I collected them. However she tended to put any Starscreams into decorative metal cages padlocked shut because "They can't be trusted." So yeah enjoy toying/drawing/mental images of that.

Thanks for the prompt bro! Ngl this sketch gave me some trouble, if the garbage attempt at a cage ain’t evidence enough. Still, hope you like it.

Starscream in a cage, where he belongs.

Going to take a brief break from requests after this lne and post some other transformers doodles in the meantime.

Shameless promo time: I made a shitty discord server. Here’s a link if anyone wants to join.

[alexandraisyes]

500 FOLLOWERS

Wow. 500 of you. That number feels surreal, especially after everything these past few months. (Don't scroll away there's a surprise at the bottom of the post.)

In July, I faced harassment over a rumor about being hired as a TSAMS writer. In August and September, it escalated—stalking, harassment, and widespread slander over SolarNexus, a ship I don’t even ship. October brought betrayal as someone I trusted turned out to be a predator, slandering our friend group, faking their death, and running away upon confrontation. Last month, I had to take a stand against someone sharing NSFW with minors, leading to more slander and harassment.

Now it’s December, and honestly, fandom discourse feels inevitable. But you know what? I don’t care.

This community has been so supportive to me throughout this. I have grown close with friends, made new ones, and gained so many supporters and I don't know how to say thank you enough. I've reached so many of my goals for this year, and there's always going to be more work to do.

I'm starting a new fic. I'm updating my old ones. I'm making art for a voice actor. I'm a mod in the community server. And I'm finally working on a project again that I started in August.

I’ve been really hesitant to show this project off on main, beyond reblogging things here and there. I won’t reveal which character I specifically play—though it probably wouldn’t be hard to guess.

This project started as a way to support the mod who plays Lunar, who was receiving harassment simply for enforcing their boundaries. Yes, you read that right—they were harassed because they didn’t want to post negative confessions. When we saw that happening, my friends and I got together, and I said, “Haha, wouldn’t it be so cool if we just made a bunch of confession blogs to dunk on the haters and roleplay and shit?”

Within 24 hours, two new blogs popped up. One hasn’t done anything to hurt me, so I won’t name them, but we all know who they are. The second? Biased-tsams-confessions—a blog that was one of the leading forces behind the harassment I faced in August. They would flip their lid if they knew I was the leading force behind TSBS CVAU and remain its head administrator and manager. Honestly? That makes me even prouder of this project.

Of course, I couldn’t do this alone. A huge thank you to my partner in crime, @lyrical-hue, who has been my rock throughout this journey. They’ve helped smooth out the bumps along the way, making sure I don’t handle everything solo.

I’m so excited to finally share this project with my fanbase publicly. We’re expanding our world and currently looking for new members to join the group! If you’re interested, you can apply here:

Okay so now the real question. How am I celebrating this milestone? The past two times I made a post like this I did a raffle (one of which I'm still finishing the artwork for). This time I'd like to do something different.

I want to make some free emotes for the community. My community. To give back some of the support I've been given.

To be applicable for this, reblog this post with references of your character designs, AU designs, OCs, or sonas. As many as you want. They can be your own characters, or personal designs for preexisting characters. Or even just. Characters. I will literally just take canon designs of characters too. I'll even take requests for my own designs. As you can see there are a LOT of emotes there, so I need a LOT of characters from the community.

RULES:

Characters must be submitted through REBLOGS

You do not get to choose which emote is made, I do, I'm doing this for free after all

You HAVE to be following me, this is an event to celebrate my followers after all.

And uh, yeah that's kinda it. If you want to join the discord you can join here:

[ckret2]

Why do you ship billford? i want to hear all ur handcanons and reasons hehehe

ALL of them? My friend I do not think you comprehend the magnitude of the task you have requested. I can tell you some of them.

Here's a post I already wrote listing why I like them, and here's a post about what Ford thinks about Bill, and I just made a post about what Bill thinks about Ford because I've had it typed up on discord for ages and decided it needs its own post.

So, some headcanons:

⭐️ While most people who ship it headcanon that they had a romantic relationship of some kind pre-betrayal, my default headcanon is that they DIDN'T have a relationship—mainly because I enjoy making Bill, specifically, miserable, and I like headcanoning that Ford violently lost interest in Bill at the EXACT moment Bill developed a sincere interest in Ford.

Meaning that Bill "LOOKS LIKE MR. BRAINIAC FINALLY GOT SMART" Cipher destroyed his own chances five seconds before going "no no wait I actually want to keep this one," and that's SO funny. I made a graph!

⭐️ From Lost Legends we know that Ford used to date a siren. In the original Greek mythology, sirens didn't woo sailors by singing prettily; sirens offered knowledge about distant and future events. Sailors wrecked their ship upon the sirens' shores and starved to death at their feet just to listen to them sing about the secrets of the universe.

What I'm saying is: Ford has a type.

⭐️ This is a mutual monsterfucker 4 monsterfucker relationship. They look at each other and go "wow you're such a weird-looking alien" and they're attracted to each other BECAUSE of that, not in spite of that. I don't want any of this "oh how could I be drawn to something so strange..." shame out of Ford, as far as I'm concerned his first crush was Mothra, a floating triangle is nothing.

⭐️ Consequently, this means that if you take an AU where Bill gets stuffed in a human body, rather than making things easier, it ironically means that any PHYSICAL attraction Ford had for Bill instantly evaporates. A humanized Bill could be the sexiest damn thing in the room and everyone else in the vicinity is going 🥵💦 but Ford's going 😐. If they hook up with Bill in a human body it's in spite of Bill's current appearance and it's because Ford knows that, underneath the body, Bill's still Bill. You could hand Ford a perfect Tumblr Sexyman supermodel and he'll be fantasizing about a three-tiered pyramid with more teeth than a shark.

⭐️ Bill WILL play Dungeons Dungeons & More Dungeons with Ford, voluntarily, for fun. However he always wants to DM and he's brutal.

⭐️ I think that the majority of the Henchmaniacs used to be like Ford: young, naive, USEFUL aliens that Bill was trying to manipulate into getting access to their universes, probably by trying to get THEM to build portals. None succeeded, but they got far enough along that either they chose to join Bill, they were forced to flee their dimension and join Bill—or, due to Bill, their home no longer existed, so they might as well join him. I think that every one of them was once his ✨favorite✨ person. I think he sealed the deal in winning their friendship & loyalty with a calculated, scripted display of vulnerability—the exact same one he tried to use on Ford: I liberated my constricting, flat world; I want to liberate yours...

He may have dated some of them, too, especially right after they joined. Because he wouldn't have recruited them unless he thought they were JUST ♥ LIKE ♥ HIM. They're special, they're important...

... and after a few years, Bill realizes they're not that much like him after all and loses interest, and they sink down into the rank-and-file with the rest of the Henchmaniacs. The Henchmaniacs are FULL of people who were once Bill's Favorite—his best friends, his confidants, his lovers—and most of them are desperate to catch his eye and be that important to him again. They gave everything they had to Bill only for Bill to get bored.

So when he shows off the human who enabled Weirdmageddon and invites him to join the gang, they know EXACTLY what they're looking at: Bill's newest favorite. They know how this goes, he'll be gaga over this earthling for the next 5 to 500 years and then Ford will be just another regular Henchmaniac. The fact that Ford doesn't seem eager to join is no problem. Ford isn't the only soon-to-be Henchmaniac whose world Bill ended; some of them had to be talked around into joining, too.

⭐️ I think that, if you took Bill with his canon personality, didn't give him any character development, and then made him GENUINELY fall in love with Ford, and had him SINCERELY try his hardest to be a good, loving, healthy partner... he would still be toxic as hell for Ford.

Part of what draws Bill to Ford is that he sees SO much of himself in Ford—some accurate, some just projection. (You who crave power and fame and fortune like I do; you who also hunger to be all-knowing; you who would also sacrifice your world and your family and everyone you know and love to get what you want; you with an ego the size of the moon, oh, you deserve an ego the size of a star.) And so he assumes that what Ford really wants is what BILL would want in Ford's shoes.

And if Bill was Ford, what he'd want is to REALLY be the man who changed the world. Bill thinks he's fulfilling all Ford's wildest dreams if he gives that to him. Naming Ford the orchestrator of Weirdmageddon is the most generous gift Bill could ever offer.

Even if Bill is Really Really Trying and accepts that okay Ford doesn't want his world invaded: his idea of showing Ford love will be pulling the strings to get Ford fame & fortune. Teach him secrets of the universe that he can publish in a dozen groundbreaking scientific papers, arrange meetings with politicians and celebrities, get him a Nobel, get him an Oscar-winning bio pic, get him a billion dollars, get him EVERYTHING Ford's ever imagined as a marker of success and then double it.

When Bill's manipulating Ford, he offers praise and approval in little drops periodically leaking from the faucet, to keep Ford thirsty for more. When Bill's LOVING Ford, he just breaks the fire hydrant and lets it flood the street.

But the thing is, that's not good for Ford. That'll never make him truly happy. Ford's only ever learned how to measure his success by external markers, but the more external markers he collects the more he'll feel like he hasn't Made It yet. It's even possible that knowing Bill's helped him get this far will make him feel like he hasn't really EARNED it. He could have the whole world handed to him and he'll feel just as dissatisfied as he was on the day he first summoned Bill.

And Bill, even if he's trying his HARDEST to do this right, wouldn't be able to understand why this isn't working. A trillion years old and the only way he knows how to show love (or to receive love) is by showering someone in praise and gifts and favors. If that doesn't work, he doesn't know what's left.